


Ace of Hearts

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Asexual Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has felt like an outcast and a freak for years, and is living life mechanically, going through the motions. That all changes when he meets Dean Winchester, who decides to show him some of the better things in life - and get Cas to pay attention to all the things he's been missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> find a playlist of all the songs in Chapter 6 [here!](http://8tracks.com/whelvenwings/ace-of-hearts)

Castiel was daydreaming.

He was sitting at the back corner of the History classroom, gazing vacantly at the whiteboard. Dimly, he registered the sound of Miss Mosely’s voice, rising and falling like soft waves of static on a badly-tuned radio. The air smelled stale and slightly acrid with cleaning fluid, and his school blazer chafed at the back of his neck, a faint annoyance. He chewed his lip, and tasted the sour mint of his toothpaste. He wished he’d eaten lunch.

Castiel tried to focus his mind on his daydream. It was a good one, the one he always fell back on when he was having a difficult day, and today had been especially hard. In his mind, Cas set his jaw and stood up. He kicked aside his chair and strode to the front of the class with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped at the front of the class and turned to face everybody. He paused, looking around at the bemused faces of his peers – and then, with a stab of light, he felt the weight of wings bursting from his shoulders, heard gasps and shouts as he stalked towards the door and kicked it open and walked away, not looking back for a second as he unfolded his wings and took off into the darkening sky –

“Castiel?”

At the sound of Miss Mosely’s exasperated voice, Castiel was tugged down out of his daydream. He felt reality reaching its soft, smothering grey hands back over him, and tried to concentrate on the present.

“Yes, Miss Mosely?”

“It’s the end of the class, Castiel. Did you want to speak to me, or…?”

Castiel glanced around the classroom confusedly. Sure enough, his classmates had disappeared. Had he really missed the sound of the bell?

“I let them all go early,” Miss Mosely said gently. “Last class of the day, and everyone was tired. Go on, Castiel, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A little dazed, Cas stood up and grabbed his stuff. He was vaguely aware of Miss Mosely’s eyes on the back of his head as he headed for the door, feeling oddly disconnected from the surreal silence of the classroom. It could be worse, he thought. At least this way, he’d probably avoided –

“Ah, look who it is! My favourite Ice Queen.”

Cas gritted his teeth and kept walking. If he could just make it to the dormitories, he’d be fine. Gordon Walker was a fellow Senior, but he slept in a different dormitory building to Cas and wasn’t allowed to trespass.

“Now he’s in a rush! You hung around long enough with Mosely. Were you telling her all about me?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Cas said, who knew from experience that Gordon didn’t react well if Cas didn’t answer his questions. Never anything too bad, of course – the teachers would soon notice if Cas turned up to class with a black eye or a split lip – but Gordon had torn up more than one of his textbooks, and pushed him around a little.

“I thought you’d gone running to Mama Mosely for help,” said Gordon, his tone light and agreeable. “Wouldn’t blame you, little fridge. I’m obviously way too much for you to handle.”

“I just wanted to talk to her about the class,” Cas lied tiredly, pushing through a door and stepping out into the mild night. “I didn’t know you’d wait around.”

“Had to check my favourite prude didn’t rat on me,” said Gordon comfortably, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders. Before he could stop himself, Cas had pushed it away. “What the hell?”

Cas shrugged silently, and carried on walking. Gordon reached out his arm, snake-fast, and pushed his shoulder.

“Don’t you do that to me again, you hear?” he said furiously. “Damn rude. Obviously no one else wants you, why aren’t you grateful?”

Cas felt a slick twist of anger slide through his guts, and took a deep breath, schooling his face into passivity. He had no business picking a fight with Gordon; it would only lead to more trouble.

“Did you even hear me?” Gordon yelled, shoving Cas again. “Are you listening to me?”

Cas stared over Gordon’s shoulder, up at the smoke-black sky, and tried to play his favourite daydream over in his head. If he just kept quiet, it would be over soon. If he just didn’t respond, Gordon would push him a few more times and then leave, and he’d be able to go back to his room and read, and sleep, and dream of getting the hell out of this stupid school…

“You look at me when I’m talking to you!” Gordon was shouting, getting more and more worked up. “Look into my eyes!”

Cas swallowed and flickered his eyes over to Gordon’s, hoping that it would placate him. He tried to keep his expression as blank as possible. His heart was racing but he felt strangely separated from it, as though the rapid _thump thump thump_ in his ears were a special effect in a TV show rather than his own visceral reaction the touch of mania in Gordon’s eyes.

“What the hell are you looking at me like _that_ for?” Gordon demanded.

This was so unfair that Cas opened his mouth to argue, but Gordon was already speaking again, pushing a single finger painfully into Cas’ chest. Cas looked down at it, trying to connect to the danger he was in: the school was dark, the paths deserted, and Gordon was showing no signs of calming down. He took a few steps backwards, but Gordon moved with him until Cas found his back pressed against the wall of the History building. “You think you’re better than me, is that it? Looking at me like I’m dirt, is that how it is?”

“I don’t think –” Cas began, but Gordon cut him off with a growl. He pulled back his finger sharply; before Cas could react, he’d curled his hand into a fist and driven it deep into Cas’ stomach. Cas felt all the air rush out of him, dimly aware of crouching over, clutching his stomach. He coughed, gasping, trying to pull some air back into his lungs; before he’d even realised what had happened, he felt a hand grasp the hair at the back of his head tightly and tug. His head snapped back, and then his face was being ground into the rough bricks of the History building.

“You’re not better than me, Castiel,” Gordon hissed in his ear, scraping his face up and down on the bricks, scoring a graze down the side of his face. Castiel felt warm wetness welling at his temple and at the top of his cheekbone, and shut his eyes. He pulled his mind as far away as he could, shrinking himself down inside his brain, focusing on the _in, out, in, out_ of his painful breathing and nothing else. Gordon would stop soon, and then he’d be safe in his room… he just had to wait until Gordon stopped, and then he’d be able to go back to his room… he’d be safe soon, in his room, soon, he’d be safe, when he got back to his room and he was safe…

“You never give anyone in the school a second glance, you frigid little skank,” Gordon was saying furiously. “You’re gonna give me those looks, from now on. You hear? Unless you want more of this –” he pressed the heel of his hand harder into the back of Cas’ head. Cas heard a little gasping sob, and realised a moment later with surprise that he’d made the sound himself.

“Hey!” Cas heard the distant voice with a kick of relief that started with his heart skipping a beat, and spread to the tips of his fingers and his toes in a shaky glow. Gordon relaxed his grip, and a moment later Cas heard the sound of running footsteps on the path. He collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily, folding himself up as small as he could go. As he sat there, completely still, he heard a second pair of footsteps approaching. He didn’t turn around; perhaps his saviour would leave him alone to regain his dignity if he didn’t acknowledge them at all.

“You OK, there?” said a voice, deep and concerned. Cas swallowed, tracing the pattern of the brickwork on the building in front of him. A moment later, he heard the footsteps coming even closer, and the rustle of someone bending down beside him. The person didn’t touch him, but their voice was closer now, and even gentler.

“Listen, man, let’s get you to your dormitory, OK? That looked rough, and you need cleaning up.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Cas reached up his hand to run over his cheek. It stung to touch, and he pulled his fingers away quickly, feeling the first tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He gulped and looked away, so that his rescuer couldn’t see his face at all. Jerkily, he stood up.

“That’s great,” said the man softly, still not touching him. “Which dormitories do you sleep in?”

“Knowles,” Cas muttered, shaking his head, trying to clear it of the hazy residue that panic had left behind.

“OK, let’s go,” the man said, and moved away a step. After a moment, Cas straightened his shoulders and turned to follow him.

“What’s your name?” the man said. In his peripheral vision, Cas could see him staring curiously at his profile. He didn’t answer; his throat felt full of lead.

“I’m Dean,” the man said, seeming unconcerned by Cas’ silence. “Dean Winchester. I work here, I’m the gardener and janitor. I only started after Christmas. It’s not a bad job. The gardens are huge, but it pays well because everyone’s so damn rich around here. Your parents must be pretty loaded if you go here, right?”

“Parent,” Cas said hoarsely. They were getting closer to his dormitory building, and the feeling was coming back to his fingers; they weren’t shaking as much. “My father died.”

“What?” Dean hadn’t seemed to expect him to speak. “Oh, man, I’m sorry.” After a beat, he added,  “Same for me. Well, they’re both gone, actually.”

Cas threw him a glance, feeling a little twist of sympathy. The man spoke lightly, but Cas knew that fake-cheery tone of old.

“Sorry,” he said softly. Dean offered him a half-smile and a one-shouldered shrug.

“Nearly there,” he said, clearing his throat. Cas nodded silently. The lights of his dormitory building were mostly off, but he could see a faint glow behind the curtains of his own room: he always left the lamp on, so that he could imagine coming back to it in the evening when he turned it on in the morning.

“You don’t have to come in,” Cas said awkwardly, as Dean pulled open the door to the building for him and ushered him inside. The foyer was a little cold, the conditioning working hard to edge the air with a refreshing chill. Dean waved his hand dismissively.

“I gotta finish cleaning the bathroom anyway,” he explained. “I was on my way here. Come on.”

They climbed the wide wooden stairs together, side by side. When they reached the first floor, Dean tugged lightly on Cas’ sleeve, gently steering him inside the bathroom. Under the harsh lights, Cas was surprised to see that Dean didn’t look all that much older than he was; his face was smooth and unlined, and handsome, too. Cas bit his lip.

“Let me look at the graze?” Dean said, taking a step backwards so that he was standing underneath one of the fluorescent strips. Behind him, there were several showers, and a bath hidden behind a curtain. The grey tiles on the walls were slightly grimy.

Silently, Cas stepped forward, moving closer to Dean. He felt his heart starting to beat faster again, and swallowed nervously, clenching his fists. Maybe he looked like an easy target, now, and Dean was going to…

“Well, it looks OK,” Dean said, peering at the side of Cas’ face. His eyes were wide and honest, his mouth hanging slightly open as he concentrated. “But it could use a clean, there’s a little bit of dirt in there. Actually, after that whole thing, you could probably use a shower, right?”

“I prefer baths,” Cas said quietly, and Dean raised his eyebrows with a smile.

“Go for it, then, dude,” Dean said, gesturing towards the tub. Cas moved to the cupboard at the corner of the room where the fresh towels were kept; behind him, he heard Dean going over to the corner of the bathroom and shifting buckets around. “You mind if I stay?” he asked, with a smile. “Can’t see through the curtain, of course. I gotta finish this bathroom before I go to bed myself.”

“No, I don’t mind,” said Cas, but Dean paused, seeming to sense his hesitation.

“You sure, dude? I’ll go, if you want, it’s no trouble.” Cas looked over at him; Dean’s small smile was slightly pitying, but his eyes met Cas’ directly. The offer was genuine, and Cas found that he didn’t need to take it up.

“It’s fine,” he said, in a stronger voice. “Stay.”

He walked over to the tub and turned on the taps. The sound of gushing water filled the room like white noise; stripping off, Cas allowed himself to relax a little. When he cast a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Dean had turned towards the wall, gripping a mop in both hands and scrubbing the same spot, round and round, not even throwing a sneaky glance towards the mirrors. Cas stepped into the bath, pulling the curtain across behind him.

“You can look,” he called, turning off the faucets. He heard Dean begin to work, the mop making a soft slapping noise against the dark floor tiles. Cas felt his shoulders begin to untense, the steam rising off the water filling his vision. He splashed his hands in and out of the water a few times, and then lay back, reaching for the soap.

“That happen often?” he heard Dean say, on the other side of the curtain. He thought for a moment before answering.

“That’s the worst it’s ever been,” he said. “It’s been getting worse all year.”

“You should tell someone, man,” Dean said. “Get that kid expelled. You don’t have to put up with his crap, you’re better than that.”

Cas allowed the words to hang in silence for a moment, soaking them in as he scrubbed the soap over his chest.

“I used to be the cool kid,” he said quietly. “Can you believe that?”

“Sure,” he heard Dean say.

“I had lots of friends,” Cas said, a little bitterly. “At least, I thought I did. But then we all grew up.”

“Growing up is hard,” said Dean vaguely. Cas touched a wet finger to his grazed cheek and winced.

“It is,” he said. “One day it was playing tag and drawing with crayons, and then suddenly it seemed like most boys in the school were obsessed with girls.”

“Not your area?” Dean asked, his voice quiet, as though he were facing away. Peeking around the curtain, Cas saw that he was scrubbing vigorously at the line of mirrors on the far wall. He dropped the curtain, and stared down at his hands.

“I don’t think I have an area,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m just not… interested.”

“What… never?” Dean said, his tone a little incredulous, but mostly curious.

Cas shrugged, even though Dean couldn’t see him; the water splashed under his arms.

“I never have been,” he said. “I just don’t… feel that way, ever.”

“Have you tried? With someone you really like?” Dean asked. “Sometimes you just don’t feel that way until you’ve known the person for a while, right? I know a few people like that.”

“I’ve tried,” Cas nodded. “It always felt like pretending. I’d attach myself to someone far away, out of reach, and tell myself that I liked them a lot. As soon as it became possible that anything might actually _happen_ , though, I realised I didn’t want that at all. The idea was equally scary and slightly… disgusting.”

Dean laughed.

“It’s a gross thing, I guess,” he said, his tone still as warm as ever. Cas felt a little knot in his chest shift, unwinding ever so slightly. “It feels good, though.”

“I don’t think it would feel good for me,” Cas confessed.

“Well, you’d know,” Dean said easily, and Cas let out a sigh. He stretched out a hand and fiddled with the curtain. He sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to Dean cleaning on the other side. This was the first time he’d ever been honest with anyone about his lack of interest, and it felt strangely freeing. He’d assumed that he’d feel odd and uncomfortable after admitting something so personal, but Dean didn’t seem to mind.

And he was just about the only person, Cas thought. He tried to imagine telling his classmates that he wasn’t interested in girls or boys, in that way. When he pictured their faces, all he could see was judgement, and confusion; at least at the moment, he had an air of mystery, of aloof unattainability. People would be freaked out, initially, and then lose interest in him altogether. He’d already lost all of his friends, without even having spoken openly about the situation. It was as though not wanting a boyfriend or a girlfriend somehow made him a person not worth caring about. Cas kicked his feet under the water, and swallowed hard.

“OK, I’m done!” Dean said, on the other side of the curtain. “I’m off to bed. But listen, you should really tell a teacher about what happened tonight. And, you know, if you’re not going to do that… if you just want someone to talk to, you can come to me. Any time, man. I live in the house at the far end of the grounds, the little white one. Come see me, if you want to. No pressure, just, uh…” Cas heard Dean start to trail off awkwardly, and clear his throat. “Well. See you round.”

There was the squeak of the door opening, and suddenly Cas was scrabbling for his towel and standing up.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Castiel.”

Cas tucked the towel carefully around his hips and then pushed aside the curtain. He stepped out of the bath and walked over to the towel cupboard quickly, grabbing a second towel and drying his face with it, holding it over his chest. Dean was watching him, his expression confused.

“What?”

Cas turned to face him, stopping a few feet away.

“Castiel,” he repeated. “It’s my name.”

Dean’s eyes lit up.

“Castiel,” he said. “Unusual. I like it.”

“Thank you,” Cas said, standing awkwardly with the towel clasped over himself. Suddenly, getting out seemed like a very strange, very bad idea. He wondered why he’d done it.

“The graze looks better,” Dean said, stepping a little closer to look at it. He reached up a finger to pull the skin of Cas’ cheek taut, checking for dirt. “Much cleaner.”

Cas’ eyes flicked down briefly to Dean’s lips, which were full and looked soft. He started to smile, opening his mouth to reply, but then froze. He took a quick step back and gripped his towel even tighter.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said stiffly.

“Night, Cas,” Dean replied with a smile, and he turned and left.

That night, Cas slept with the light on, as always.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Cas found his feet taking him to the far end of the grounds, towards the little white house perched by the fence. Classes had finished for the day; he’d managed to avoid Gordon for the whole of the past couple of days through luck and strategic class-skipping, but still found himself wanting to talk to Dean. He’d held out, resisted, for two days before deciding he was being stupid. Since when was it against the rules to want to have a friend?

All the same, he hesitated outside the little black door for at least a minute, staring out into the darkening sky as though he could find reassurance in the streaking clouds and semicircle sun. Dean had probably only invited him over as a politeness; more than likely, he’d be dismayed to see Cas standing on his doorstep. No one wanted to associate with a freak, after all – and he’d just laid his freakishness out in the open for Dean to see. He wished that he could go back to that night and change what he’d said – or just have sat in silence. What had he been thinking, spilling out his strangeness so easily? It must have made Dean so uncomfortable…

And yet, when Cas thought about how Dean had acted, he hadn’t seemed awkward or uneasy. A little confused, perhaps, but not hostile.

Cas breathed in and out, sharply. He was overanalysing, and he knew it. The only way to know if Dean’s offer had been genuinely meant was to screw up his courage and knock on the door.

But if Dean hadn’t really wanted him to come…

Cas rolled his eyes at his own indecision, raised his hand, and knocked.

Almost immediately, the door was thrown open. Dean’s face lit up when he saw Cas; he grinned and leaned casually on the doorframe.

“How’s it going, Castiel?” he said, one hand on his hip. He was wearing a loose, soft-looking t-shirt and battered old jeans with holes at the knees. Behind him, Cas could see a tiny, dimly-lit hallway with photographs covering the peeling yellow wallpaper.

“Alright,” Cas said awkwardly. Dean nodded, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

“Well… want to come in?” said Dean, half-lifting his arm invitingly and raising his eyebrows. “I got ginger beer.”

Cas nodded silently; Dean beamed at him and stepped back, flattening himself against the wall of the hall so that Cas could squeeze past him.

“Door straight ahead,” Dean said, swinging the front door closed. Cas took the few steps across the threadbare carpet of the hall to the door immediately opposite, staring at the photos on the wall as he went: most of them were of Dean and a long-haired, tall boy with a wide grin and bright eyes.

“My brother,” Dean said, noticing him looking. “Sam. He’s living with our foster father, Bobby – that’s him, there –” Dean pointed to a picture of a man sitting on a porch, a beer in one hand and an unamused expression on his face. “He looks grouchy there because it was me taking the picture, and I accidentally put a soccer ball through the windshield of an old Jeep he was working on that day. But he’s a good guy, the best. He took me ‘n’ Sam in after… after Dad died. But he didn’t have much money and I want Sam to go to a good school, so. Here I am.” Dean stared at the photo pensively for a few moments, chewing on his lip, and then seemed to snap back to the present. “Anyway, you don’t care about that. Let’s sit down.”

He leaned past Cas to push open the door to the living room and gently steered Cas through it with one hand, reaching with the other for the handle of the door on his left.

“I’ll grab us some drinks from the fridge,” he explained, disappearing through it into a darkened room. Cas swallowed and took a few steps further into the living room, staring around him. The house was old and rickety, the carpets thin and tattered in places, the wallpaper yellowing and peeling away from the plaster. It seemed to be very well-kept, however: when Cas moved over to the bookshelves, there wasn’t so much as a lick of dust. He liked the idea of Dean cleaning, brandishing a cloth and a can of furniture polish, maybe wearing a flowery apron. He smiled to himself and ran his eyes along the contents of the shelves: records, mostly. Lots of Led Zeppelin and AC/DC, as well as other bands whose names he didn’t even recognise. There were a few books tucked neatly at the end of one shelf: a couple of gardening manuals, and some Vonnegut. Cas pulled out _Cat’s Cradle_ and read the back. It had been a while since he had read it, but he remembered being confused by it and liking it.

“Here we go,” Dean said, pushing through the door and coming over to hand Cas a can of cold ginger beer. Cas took a sip, blinking at the strong taste.

“You have a lot of records,” he remarked. Dean grinned.

“I like my music,” he said, running a finger along the spines. “You like rock?”

“I’ve never listened to it properly,” Cas admitted. “I don’t really understand music.”

Dean frowned.

“There’s nothing to understand,” he said, bemused. “It’s just… music.”

“I don’t understand it,” Cas repeated blankly. “It’s a sequence of noises. It’s someone I don’t know singing about other people I don’t know or an emotion that I don’t feel.”

Dean laughed and shook his head.

“No way, man. You’ve been listening to it wrong,” he said. “Come on, sit.”

Dean gestured good-naturedly for Cas to take the armchair, heading for a cushion placed on the sill of the bay window. Cas shook his head firmly.

“I like the look of the window seat,” he said, walking over to it and staring around the rest of the room. The little yellow lamp cast a warm, candlelight glow over the low bookshelves and battered furniture; the armchair was plush and powder blue. Dean’s laptop whirred next to it on the floor, and Cas frowned down at it.

“You’re going to get dust in your fan,” he said. Dean peered over the arm of his chair as he sat down, and grinned.

“You’re gonna get dust in your face,” he replied intelligently, picking up the laptop and focusing on the screen. “Hey, you know, I did some research on you.”

“Um –” Cas began, but Dean was already speaking again, his face lit up in blue by the light of his screen.

“Crap, that came out creepy. I meant, I did some research on what you were saying the other night, about not being attracted to people, right? I wanted to know if it was a thing.”

“Oh,” said Cas uncertainly. He paused. “Is it?”

“According to the internet, it is,” said Dean, holding out his laptop for Cas to take. Reaching over, Cas took it and balanced it neatly on his knees. At the top of the screen, he read _Explaining Asexuality_ in large letters.

“Asexuality?” he said. Dean leaned forwards in his chair, his hands clasped loosely between his open knees.

“Yeah! Apparently this is totally normal for you, and for people like you. You just don’t like people in that way. I mean, you probably knew all of this already and I’m preaching to the asexual choir, here, but I thought…”

“I didn’t know about this,” Cas said. “I never thought of researching it. I thought… it was just me.”

“Huh,” said Dean, watching him closely as he started to read. “There was also a page on, um, aromanticism? Pretty sure that’s how you say it. That’s when you don’t feel romantic about anyone, which is different from feeling, uh, sexual about them. Is that you, too? Like, does the idea of going on a date, or maybe kissing someone – does that feel weird?”

“Um,” Cas said, looking up at Dean. He had a little bit of scruff, this evening, and the yellowy light was bringing out the warmth in his green eyes. “No, that’s not me. I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t mind those things. I’ll never have them, though.”

“Says who?” Dean said, frowning as he leaned back and hooked his legs up over the arm of his chair.

“I can’t ask someone to give me those things, but not be able to deliver at the end,” Cas said, scrolling down the page without really seeing it. He decided to send himself the link to the site via email, so that he could read it when he was less distracted by Dean.

“Who says sex is the end?” Dean said. Cas shrugged.

“I guess if I found someone else like me,” he said pensively, “then it wouldn’t be a problem. But there must be so few of us… I’ve never even heard of someone else.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it, letting Cas read for a moment in peace.

“They’re saying a lot of things that sound like me,” Cas commented, after a minute.

“Yeah?” Dean said, reaching out behind him and grabbing a packet of biscuits off the little table with the lamp on it. He took one out of the plastic and bit into it.

“Yes. I think this… is what I am.”

“Do you feel good about that?” Dean asked, chewing his biscuit. Cas considered this.

“I haven’t felt good about anything in a while,” he said, his voice quiet with the realisation. “I don’t think I remember what that feels like.”

Dean shifted in his seat, looking confused.

“Wait, but… you must remember what it’s like to like something?” he said. “Even something small?”

Cas opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He stared around the room, searching for inspiration. There must be something that made him feel _good_ , a feeling that he enjoyed?

“I can’t think of anything,” he said blankly. “I haven’t really thought about it, before.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and gestured towards Cas with his second biscuit.

“We’re gonna change that.” he said firmly, and then seemed to realise what he’d just said. “I mean, if you want to,” he added hastily.

“Change it?” Cas said, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “How?”

“There are loads of things! I’ve got a few ideas,” said Dean, his ears tinged with pink. “Stuff you might like the feel of.”

“Dean…”

“No, no, I know what you’re thinking. Nothing like that,” Dean reassured him seriously, leaning forward again in his chair. His eyes were full of enthusiasm, and Cas felt an answering twist of interest. “There are so many good feelings out there, Cas. You just gotta experience some of them whilst you’re paying attention properly. If you wanted, we could do some of them together.”

“You and me?”

“Well, I mean. If you want,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly, not meeting Cas’ eyes. “Stuff’s usually more fun when you do it with someone, so.”

“Dean, it’s – it’s very kind of you to offer, but…”

“It’s not kind,” Dean said. “I want to hang out with you. You’re the first person I’ve met in this damn school who hasn’t turned their nose up at me when they realised I was the janitor. I’m freakin’ lonely, dude. You’d be doing me a favour.”

Dean was probably exaggerating, Cas thought, but his face was open and it was probably true that no one here at the school would be willing to spend time with him. They were an aloof bunch of people, in general.

 “Dean, I don’t think it’ll work,” Cas said awkwardly. “I don’t feel things correctly. I can’t… connect to what’s happening around me. You’ve done the research… I’m weird.” Dean huffed.

“Well, of course it won’t work if you go into it with that attitude, Mr Glass-is-Totally-Empty,” he said, his tone mock-snippy, grinning. Cas smiled a little and dipped his head. “Look, just give it a go, OK? You might surprise yourself.”

“What sort of things would it be?” Cas asked, taking another sip of his ginger beer.

Dean grinned and winked conspiratorially.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he said. “Because the first thing you’re gonna try out is anticipation. How’s it feel?”

Cas looked at Dean, who was smiling at him confidently as he leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. He felt the desire to _know_ , like a light burning sensation in his chest; he paid attention to the feeling, watched it grow as he thought more about Dean, and the plans that he might have – and then he felt a little stab of quite another emotion altogether, as he thought about the fact that Dean would even bother to make plans that involved him at all.

“It feels different,” Cas said, looking over at Dean with a small smile. “It feels good.”

**

The next day, Cas was walking through the locker room. It was lunch time, and he usually came in here to hide from his classmates. It meant that he couldn’t eat, but he’d be able to get food that evening – dinner was served over a two-hour period, which meant that he could avoid the worst of his peers if he timed it right.

He headed for his own locker, keeping alert for the sounds of anyone approaching. The emptiness of the locker room usually worked in his favour, but if he got caught in here by Gordon or Bartholomew, it would definitely count against him.

When he reached his locker, he entered his code and swung it open, staring at the contents listlessly. He had an hour to kill, and he hadn’t managed to get up to the library to switch his book, which meant that he was stuck with _Great Expectations_ and he’d finished that the day before. Maybe he should have asked Dean if he could borrow _Cat’s Cradle_ ; he would probably understand it better the second time around.

Something caught his eye: a piece of paper, folded roughly, lying at the bottom of his locker as though someone had poked it through the grill. He picked it up, trying not to get his hopes up – it was probably just Gordon, sending him some horrible joke – but when he opened it up, he didn’t recognise the handwriting at all.

 _Cas,_ the note read. _Pretty sure this is your locker. If you’re not Cas, just pretend you are to save us both being embarrassed. Anyway, Cas, if you’re free this afternoon then come over when your classes are done. Got something I think you’ll like._

Cas read the note over three times, and then tucked it into his pocket and went to sit down on a bench at one end of the locker room, and then took it out of his pocket and read it again. He was free this afternoon, and his classes finished at four. That should leave plenty of time for whatever it was that Dean had in mind, though Cas couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might be. He felt that hot sensation in his chest again, felt the need to know right _now_ burning in him like his brain had just taken a sip of ginger beer – and then his stomach rumbled, and he felt a sharp pang in his stomach that had nothing to do with anticipation and everything to do with hunger. Cas couldn’t remember the last time he’d been genuinely hungry, but it was happening now and suddenly the threat of Gordon or Bartholomew seemed small and unimportant compared to the promise of hot food. He left the locker room at a fast walk, heading for the dining hall.


	3. Chapter 3

“OK, nearly there. Your eyes are still closed, right?”

“Yes, Dean,” said Cas.

Dean was walking behind Cas with a warm hand on each of his shoulders, moving them both forwards at a careful pace. Cas had arrived at Dean’s house at four-thirty, having stopped in his room to take off his school blazer and pull on his favourite sweater instead. Dean had immediately told him to shut his eyes, and had guided him away from the front door. They’d seemed to turn a corner at one point, which meant they might be behind Dean’s house. Cas felt his senses heighten in place of his sight: he could feel the breeze on his face, hear the sound of trees rustling and, faintly, Dean breathing, and smell wet leaves and petrol.

“Good. Alright, you can open your eyes in three…  two… one… OK, now!”

Cas opened his eyes. In front of him, black and gleaming, was a car.

“Feast your eyes, Cas,” Dean said, stepping out from behind him and moving towards the car. “Nineteen sixty-seven Chevy Impala. She’s older than both of us put together, but she’s beautiful, ain’t she? Come on, come here. Put your hands on her. That’s right.”

Cas laid his hand gently on the wide hood of the car. Beneath his fingers, the black metal felt cool and smooth as sealskin. Dean reached down and lifted up the hood, propping it open and leaning inside, gesturing for Cas to join him.

“This is the engine. I keep it clean, I take care of her.” Cas could hear the pride in Dean’s voice. “See here, that’s where you check your oil. She’s running a little lower than I’d like at the moment, I used the last of what I had on the lawn mower last week – but she’ll last until the weekend, at least.”

Cas nodded, looking down at the engine. It was a little beautiful, he thought. All the separate parts, coming together to form a whole that worked as one. And it was so old – but all the parts of the engine had probably been replaced a lot of times between nineteen sixty-seven and now, so was it really all that old? The body of the car certainly was, though, Cas thought, reaching up his hand to touch the underside of the hood. It was painted smoothly, completely free of rust. His fingertips ran easily over the cold metal, so he moved them back and forth along the edge of the hood, paying attention to the band of pressure against the pads of his fingers.

“Do you like it?” Dean said, his voice breaking into Cas’ thoughts. Cas looked at him without turning his head, flicking his eyes right with a half-smile.

“I like it,” he confirmed.

“Good. I spent a long time working on her. After my dad died, I needed something to do, so Bobby set me to work on her. I cleaned her up, decked her out in all the best new kit, and then Bobby comes to me and he says, ‘put this in her’. You know what he was holding? A manual gearbox. Took me forever to get it to work, but by the time I was finished, I wasn’t such a wreck about Dad, so. Go figure. Anyway, she drives like a dream these days, so I guess Bobby knew what he was doing when he gave it to me. Get in,” Dean said, reaching out to close the hood and moving towards the driver’s-side door.

“What?” said Cas, momentarily bewildered. “We’re going somewhere?”

“Nowhere in particular,” said Dean with a grin, swinging the door open with a creak. “Come on, get in! Let’s see if you like it.”

Cas made his way to the passenger side, dragging the backs of his fingers along the hood of the car. He reached down and put his hand around the door handle; it opened with a _clunk_ , and when Cas pulled, the door opened with a soft groan just like Dean’s had.

Cas swung himself down into the seat, shifting in it until he was comfortable. There was a faint smell of mint, and also another smell – one that Cas recognised as Dean’s own scent, the cologne that he wore. He blushed slightly at the thought of being able to identify Dean’s smell so easily – it was a good smell, a little musky and a little sweet. Cas cleared his throat.

“Right. Prepare to have your mind blown,” Dean said, putting the keys into the ignition and turning them. The car growled and stirred like a waking beast, the engine noise smoothing to a purr as it recognised the familiar hand of its driver.

“Feel that?” Dean said. “Just take it in. Close your eyes, listen to her. You can feel her, too, see? The humming?”

Cas flicked a glance over to Dean. He’d been in a car a hundred times before, of course; the Impala’s engine was a little raspier and more raw than any other that he’d heard, but it didn’t seem to warrant Dean’s almost rapturous attention. Still, at a slightly stern expression from Dean, Cas shut his eyes.

With his eyes closed, the sounds around him seemed much louder. The growl of the engine became layered; the longer he listened, the more Cas could hear the different notes within the throaty rumble. He thought of all the different components that he’d seen when he’d been looking under the hood, thought of them all working together right now, petrol flowing and cogs meshing neatly. He found that he could hear the engine not just in his ears, but with his whole body; the seat beneath him was thrumming, and when he pressed his fingers against the handle on the inside of the door, it too was juddering slightly. It felt as though he were sitting on the back of a cat – a huge black cat that was purring boldly beneath his touch, every now and then giving a little expectant cough, a hitch in her breathing. She was ready to go, ready to hit the highway and eat up the miles. Cas felt his own heart beating faster, felt the car’s eagerness becoming his own. The sound of the engine was all around him, not a drowning, smothering sensation like white noise, but more like an incitement, a wake-up call, a promise of open, endless roads…

When the sound of the engine changed, _clunk clunked_ into a new key, Cas actually gasped as he opened his eyes. Dean looked over at him with a smile, and released the clutch: he’d put the car in gear.

“Beautiful, see?” he said, as they began to pull away.

“Beautiful,” Cas repeated. “Yes, I see.”

They pulled out of Dean’s driveway and onto the road, cruising at a careful speed. The roads were twisty and coated in leaves, but Dean navigated them with practised ease. Cas watched him sidelong; he looked completely relaxed, one hand wrapped around the gearstick and the other resting on top of the steering wheel. The road straightened out and Dean smiled, accelerating a little.

“Want to do the gear change?” he said, looking over and meeting Cas’ eyes. Cas opened his mouth, surprised.

“I’ve never…” he said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said. “We’re going from third to fourth. You see the numbers?”

Cas looked down and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out his hand and put it on top of the gearstick. He ran his thumb over the little number 3, and down the line to the number 4 directly beneath.

“So I just move the stick straight down?” he asked.

“When I say go,” Dean confirmed. “I gotta hit the clutch first. OK, you ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“No, you gotta look up. Yeah, look forwards, like that. Do it by feel, it’s best that way. Alright, I’m gonna press on the clutch. Ready, set… go!”

Eyes on the horizon, Cas gritted his teeth and pulled on the gearstick; _clunk,_ out of gear, and then _clunk,_ sweetly into fourth gear, and Dean released the clutch and hit the accelerator; the car roared with pleasure and leapt forwards, fast and agile despite its size. Cas felt the speed in his gut, and his heart raced with a thrill of exhilaration that ran up and down his spine, putting a tingle in his fingertips and a smile on his face.

“Nicely done,” Dean commented, as the trees around them fell away and they emerged into wide, open field, stretching away to either side of them as far as Cas could see. “Did you like that?”

“I liked it,” Cas said, looking over at him and catching the warmth in his eyes.

They rode in silence for several minutes. Cas felt the rhythm of the tires on the road, scoring a deep bass line under his thoughts, keeping him from fixing on one thing: his mind ran through ideas and memories as fast as a fish in a current, unable to sink too deep or dwell too long in one place. The landscape moved around them slowly, rumbling past, unaware and uninterested in Cas’ observation. He felt completely calm, and a little awed.

“I’d forgotten,” he said out loud, after a while. He saw Dean glance at him in his peripheral vision.

“Forgotten what?”

“How… _beautiful_ it is,” Cas said, looking out over the fields slipping softly past the window.

“What is?”

Cas turned to him with a small smile.

“Everything,” he said.

**

Cas sat in the corner of Miss Mosely’s class, listening to her speak.

“… but it wasn’t until nineteen eighty-nine that the Wall actually came down,” she was saying. “There were a lot of factors affecting the fall. There were a lot of protests held by the East Germans, who wanted –”

The bell rang, and immediately there was the usual noisy scramble for the door. Cas gathered up his things and slung his bag over his shoulder, offering Miss Mosely a smile as he passed by her desk on the way to the door. She nodded her head at him, her eyes warm.

“Good afternoon, Castiel,” she said.

“Good afternoon, Miss Mosely,” he replied, hearing the brightness in his own tone with a touch of surprise. He headed out of the door, thinking about the copy of Vonnegut’s _Cat’s Cradle_ that was sitting in his room waiting to be read, since he’d borrowed it from Dean after their drive two nights ago. He was just itching to start it; he’d had too much homework the past couple of nights. Tonight, however, Miss Mosely hadn’t set anything, so he had the evening free.

“Aha, it’s Castiel,” said a voice behind Cas.

Cas froze, clutching his books tightly to his chest. He could hear Gordon’s footsteps approaching him, and felt his heart starting to beat faster in fear. He swallowed.

“How’s it going, Castiel? Still keeping your balls in stasis? They’re going to be so blue, man. Scientists would probably pay to get a look at them.”

The boy was an absolute pig, Cas thought. He was cruel, and he was vindictive, and he had no concept of kindness… he had no business bothering Cas at all. Cas hadn’t done anything to deserve it, after all.

Cas felt his mind stutter to a halt, and replay that last thought.

He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. He hadn’t hurt anybody or insulted anyone. He was just being himself – and sure, being himself was weird and strange, but it wasn’t hurting anybody. Gordon was the one doing that.

Cas breathed out. In a rush, he felt the knot in his chest unravel, as though he’d finally found the right place to tug the rope; he turned to Gordon with his eyes flashing.

“Back off, Gordon,” he said, his tone deep and stern with newfound certainty. “It’s time this stopped. Leave me alone.”

“Or what?” Gordon said, his voice light and seemingly unaffected, but Castiel could hear the hollowness to it that spoke of uneasiness. “You gonna hit me, Cas? You must have a lot of unused testosterone going round your system. You gonna use a bit of it on me?”

“I won’t hit you. I’ll find another way to hurt you,” Cas said simply, and saw a flicker of fear in Gordon’s eyes. “Leave me alone, or you will regret it.”

He walked away, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, Cas was sitting in his room. It was a Saturday, which meant that he had no classes, and hadn’t yet developed a sense of urgency strong enough to get on with his homework; that would come tomorrow. He had the whole day to himself – but if he was honest, he didn’t want to spend it alone.

This was certainly new, he thought. This desire to not be alone. For years now, he’d been perfectly content by himself – but now, here he was, a whole glorious day of potential solitude spread out in front of him, and instead he wanted company. He wanted to share a space with someone, even if they didn’t talk; he could read his book, and the other person could maybe work on their car, or listen to their music…

Dean, he thought to himself. I want to spend time with Dean.

It wasn’t as though going to Dean’s was out of the question, Cas thought. He hadn’t been invited, but then, Dean had said that he was lonely…

And so he went. The walk to Dean’s little white house was not long, but Cas took his time. He got distracted by a bee, a fat furry bumblebee which droned from one flower to the next, heavy with pollen; when he finally arrived at Dean’s home, Cas knocked three times on the door.

This time, it took Dean a little longer to answer; when he did, however, he looked just as happy to see Cas as the first time.

“Come on in!” he said. “I was gonna come find you today, actually. You want to go out for lunch? I know this really great place, and I thought I could show you. You know, if you want.”

“That sounds excellent,” Cas said, rubbing his hands together; the cold was starting to leech the feeling from them. Dean frowned down at his clothing: Cas was only wearing a light jumper over a t-shirt, and he was already starting to shiver.

“C’mere,” he said, reaching behind the door and grabbing a coat, which he held out to Cas. “Put this on.”

Cas reached out a hand and grasped the leather. Dean smiled at him easily and stepped outside, turning round to swing the door closed and lock it.

“It’s not far,” Dean said. “We’ll walk, as long as that’s alright with you. Just gotta cut through the forest.” He glanced over at Cas, who was still holding onto the collar of Dean’s coat uncertainly. “You know, you only get warm if you actually put _on_ the coat.”

Cas gave Dean a mock glare and began to put on the jacket. It was a deep brown and ever so slightly too large for him; when he’d pulled the sleeves down so that they almost covered his fingers, Dean reached over and tugged out the hood of his sweater so that it was on the outside of the jacket’s collar.

“There we go,” Dean said, and Cas watched Dean’s face as he fussed with it a little, setting it straight. “Looks good on you. OK, this way!”

He started to stride away, crossing the road and heading into the dense woodland on the other side. Cas shrugged his shoulders, setting the jacket straight, and then followed him.

They walked in silence, occasionally catching each other’s eye and smiling.

“You had any more trouble with that guy who was bothering you?” Dean asked at one point. Cas shook his head, stepping carefully over a small log and avoiding a patch of wet mud. His feet were making _shiff shiff shiff_ noises in the fallen leaves.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I told him to back off, and he has done.”

“Nice one,” said Dean, looking impressed as he ducked under a low-hanging branch. “Sometimes, you only need to stand up to guys like that once, and they leave you alone.”

“Hmm,” said Cas, non-committal. The look in Gordon’s eyes as he’d walked away after their little confrontation had seemed to speak of unfinished business, but Cas didn’t want to dwell on it, least of all when he was with Dean. “Are we nearly there?”

“About five more minutes,” Dean said, pausing for a second to glance at the trees around them, and then making for an especially large pine. “We’ve gotta go up a little bit, before we get there.”

Sure enough, the ground began to steepen beneath their feet; Cas found himself panting slightly, the cool air burning a little at the bottom of his lungs and his calf muscles protesting each step.

“Not far,” Dean promised, sounding out of breath himself. “It’s worth it, I swear.”

Five minutes later, they emerged out of the trees. Opposite them, across a tarmac road, was a rickety building with lace curtains at the windows and flowers in big terracotta pots on either side of the door.

“Let’s get inside,” Dean said, climbing the creaky wooden steps with a glance up at the sky. When Cas followed his gaze, he saw that grey clouds were starting to gather overhead; with a little shiver, he pulled Dean’s coat a little closer and followed Dean through the door.

Inside, the house was open-plan; most of the room was taken up by white wooden tables and armchairs, and at the far end of the room, a little fire crackled cheerfully in the grate.

“Come on,” Dean said, putting his hand on Cas’ arm and leading him forwards, towards a high counter. To one side, there was a glass-fronted cabinet full of delicious-looking food: sweet little cupcakes, sugar-crusted pies and golden loaves of bread. Cas took a deep breath, and then another; the air smelled delicious.

Dean reached out a hand and hit the bell on the counter; it gave a light, tinkling _ding_ and immediately, a blonde girl popped her head up from under the counter, hurriedly tying on her apron.

“Welcome to the Roadhouse Bakery, how can I help you today – Dean!” the girl beamed, and reached over the counter to give Dean a friendly punch on the arm. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be cleaning a toilet somewhere?”

“Nice to see you too,” Dean replied with a grin, rubbing his arm with mock-pain. “You having trouble with the wiring again? I can fix it, if you want.”

“What? Oh, no, I was under the counter because I lost my earring. Well, I lost Mom’s earring, actually, so. I’m screwed, but it’s whatever.”

“Man, Ellen’s gonna kick your ass,” Dean said. Cas shoved his hands into the pockets of Dean’s jacket, feeling a little awkward. He looked down at the floor, allowing Dean and the girl to carry on their conversation without being watched. The room had no carpet, only bare wooden boards that creaked a little under his feet. Out the corner of his eye, Cas caught sight of something sparkling under one of the tables; moving over, he bent down and picked it up.

Straightening up, he held his find cupped carefully in his palm: a little diamond stud, which twinkled in the soft lighting of the bakery. Clearing his throat, Cas moved back towards where Dean and the girl were standing.

“Is this your mother’s?” he said, holding out his hand so that the girl could see the earring. She paused in her description of her mother’s latest cruel punishment, reaching out with a little cry of happiness to pick up the diamond stud.

“Yes! Oh god, you’ve saved my ass, man,” she said, reaching up and twisting the earring into her ear. “There, that’ll keep it safe. Who’m I thanking?” She beamed at Cas, who smiled in return.

“Right, yeah!” said Dean, clapping a hand to Cas’ shoulder. “Cas, this is my sorta-sister, Joanna Beth Harvelle, known as Jo to all her friends –”

“So you better call me Jo,” the girl said, her brown eyes bright.

“And Jo, this is my… this is Castiel,” Dean said.

“Cas,” said Cas, holding out his hand. Jo shook it, two golden bangles tinging together on her wrist. She gripped firmly, and her hand was soft.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cas,” she said. “Maybe I’ll get some decent company today, since Dean hasn’t come on his own. What do you boys want? Table for two and some pie?”

“Actually,” said Dean, leaning over the counter with a bright, hopeful smile that immediately set Jo’s expression into narrow-eyed suspicion, “I was thinking, we could get a look out back, first. Cas is trying out new experiences at the moment, and you know that the Roadhouse Bakery kitchen is something that definitely should be on the list.”

“Oh!” said Jo, relaxing. “Sure thing. Mom’s not here at the moment, so it’s just me. There’s a batch of bread in the oven, as well, so maybe you guys can help me get that out when it’s ready. Should be about five minutes or so. Come on, let’s go.”

She gestured for them to come around to the back of the counter and led them through a beaded curtain and into the room beyond. Cas immediately felt any residual chill from being outdoors leave completely; at one end of the room was a huge oven, which was heating the room beautifully.

“Dean, go check the bread,” Jo instructed, throwing him a pair of sturdy-looking oven gloves. “So Cas, new experiences, huh? That’s a great attitude, man. Must be refreshing. What other stuff have you been doing?”

With a glance at Dean, who smiled encouragingly from across the room, Cas cleared his throat.

“Dean took me out in the Impala,” he said. “We drove for a long time. I liked it a lot.”

“Uh huh,” said Jo, watching his face carefully, and then flicking her eyes over to Dean, who was busy with the oven. “You like him?”

“Of course,” said Cas, after a pause. “Of course I like Dean.”

“Yeah, but do you… _like_ Dean?” Jo said, looking back at him with a cheeky grin on her face. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I promise I won’t tell him. I’m just curious, because it seems like he likes you. You’re the first person he’s ever brought here.”

Cas swallowed.

“It’s complicated,” he said, in a low voice. Jo nodded, her eyes narrowed.

“Probably not as complicated as you think it is,” she said, with a little shrug. “If you do like him, tell him. It’ll go well for you. Believe me, I know Dean inside out, only his brother knows him better. You’re onto something here, if you want to be.”

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get the words out, Dean had shut the oven and rejoined them.

“What’s going on?” he asked cheerfully, rubbing his hands together.

“Just getting to know Cas,” Jo said, with a wink in Cas’ direction. “Bread not ready?”

“Not quite,” Dean confirmed, looking over at Cas questioningly. Cas offered him a smile, and Dean seemed to relax. “Okay, let’s show you how things work around here.”

“It’s been a while since you made the bread,” Jo said, as Dean moved around her, pulling Cas along with him by the elbow. “You sure you remember how, old man?”

“Less of the old,” Dean said, waving a vaguely threatening finger in her direction. “I’m barely a year older than you, Joanna Beth Harvelle.”

Jo shuddered.

“Stop using my full name, you know it gives me flashbacks to the Victoria Sponge incident,” she said. Behind her, from the other room, came the sound of the bell on the counter. “Oh, gotta go take care of that. You guys take care of the bread, yeah? You let it burn, and I will kick both of your asses.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance against both of us,” Dean said, his shoulder brushing Cas’ as he folded his arms. Cas felt a sudden surge of strength, as he and Dean both smirked over at Jo, a unit.

“Shut up, Dean. You know I could sweep the floor with you when we were kids, and I could still do it now. Cas is way too nice to get involved in a fight.”

“If that’s what you think,” Cas said, “you haven’t yet got a full grasp on my personality.”

Both Jo and Dean turned to look at him, an expression of pleasant surprise on both of their faces.

“Is that the case?” Jo said, turning to go. “Well, I look forward to seeing some of that badassery in action some day.”

She disappeared through the beaded curtain, leaving Dean and Cas alone together. Dean nudged Cas’ shoulder with his own, and stepped away towards one side of the room.

“Come over here, Cas. See, this is the flour we use, because everything’s from scratch here. It comes in these sacks. Try putting your hand in this one, go on.”

Cas tilted his head confusedly, but reached out his hand towards the open sack of flour. Dean reached down at the same time, and together they pushed their hands into the sack. Cas felt the tiny grains of flour moving around his fingers, filling the spaces in between them and tickling his palm. He clenched his fist and then released it again, enjoying the sensation.

“Do you like it?” Dean asked, lifting his hand out of the flour and then dipping it in again. When he did so, Cas felt his fingertips brush along the back of his hand; his heart seemed to skip a beat, and he felt himself blush.

“I like it,” he said quietly. Dean was standing close, his front pressed lightly against Cas’ side, and Cas was suddenly struck by how nice it felt; Dean’s body was warm and the slight pressure felt reassuring. Cas could smell Dean’s cologne again, and breathed in.

“Smells good, right?” Dean asked, and Cas jumped a little, moving away.

“What?”

“The bread. It smells really good.”

“Oh. Yes, it smells very good,” Cas said, trying to will the pinkness away from his cheeks.

“Reckon it might be ready. You want to come help get it out?”

“Yes, please,” Cas said, following Dean over to the bread oven and pulling off Dean’s leather jacket and his sweater, laying them neatly on the wooden table which stood against the wall. He accepted the oven gloves that Dean proffered, tugging them on and standing next to Dean, facing the oven door.

“Ready?” Dean said, turning his head to look at Cas.

Cas looked at Dean, smiling slightly in anticipation.

“Ready,” he said.

Dean reached up and pulled on the handle on the oven door, heaving it so that the hatch was opened. Cas felt the heat from the flames inside hit his face like a blast of desert air, baking hot and dry. The bread was sitting in a neat row on a shelf, several loaves lined up side-by-side on top of a tray. He reached his hands into the oven, careful not to touch the sides with his bare arms, and picked up the tray. It was surprisingly heavy; his muscles worked hard to keep the tray level as he slid it out of the oven and hefted the full weight of it into his arms.

“Put it down over here,” Dean said, sliding the hatch closed and pointing to a metal work table. “They’ll have to cool off for a bit before they’re ready to eat.”

Cas stepped over to the table, feeling his biceps start to tremble with the strain. Carefully, he lowered the tray onto the table, and then took a step back. When he looked over at Dean, he caught him staring at Cas’ shoulders; he could feel that his t-shirt was clinging to them, and he thought he might be sweating slightly. He cleared his throat and Dean snapped his gaze up to Cas’ eyes, making a small, aborted movement towards him; for a second, Cas thought that Dean was going to step forward and put his hands on Cas’ shoulders, but then –

“Sorry,” Dean said, coughing a little and taking a step backwards. “Sorry, Cas.”

Cas chewed his lip a little, and then took a step forward, returning the distance between them to what it had been before.

“It’s fine,” he said, and meant it.

At that moment, Jo came back into the room. She seemed to sense a little of the charge between its two occupants – or perhaps she just noticed that Dean and Cas were standing in silence, staring at each other – and didn’t speak, only picking a loaf of bread out of a basket on the wooden table and then returning to the main room.

“OK, well,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck; Cas cast a glance around the room, to take his eyes off Dean. Outside, he thought he heard a low, distant rumble of thunder. “How about we try some bread?”

“Yes, please,” said Cas, and they moved together over to the bread basket on the table beside Dean’s coat and Cas’ sweater. “Aren’t you hot, in that jacket?” he asked, reaching out a hand to tug lightly on the sleeve of Dean’s coat – a green one, with a high collar.

“I’m hot in everything,” Dean said, with a cheeky smile, “but I’m not too hot, if that’s what you mean. Alright, let’s eat. We’ll have some pie in a second, for proper lunch, but you gotta try some of this bread. This batch is still a little warm, can’t’ve been out all that long. OK, you break it.”

He handed Cas a loaf, which was golden brown and warm to the touch. Cas held it in both hands, running his fingers over the crispy crust.

“So I just…”

“Tear it in half,” Dean finished.

Cas dug his fingers into the bread, ripping it in two. It made an amazing crackling sound as it split, and once it was open, the smell of warm bread filled the air. Cas poked at the fresh whiteness inside the loaf – it was soft, and hot. Handing one half of the bread to Dean, Cas brought his own up to his mouth, and took a bite.

It was absolutely delicious. Cas chewed slowly, allowing the taste and the texture and the warmth to roll over his tongue. The crust crunched slightly when he bit it, and the soft inside seemed to melt in his mouth; it was a little sweet, a little salty, completely incredible and so much better than any bread that Cas had ever tasted before. He didn’t realise that he’d closed his eyes until he swallowed and opened them, to find Dean watching him with a smile on his face.

“Do you like it?” he asked, with a warmth in his voice that suggested he already knew the answer.

Cas nodded, taking another eager bite.

“I like it,” he said, through his mouthful.

**

Later that evening, before they set off back through the woods, Dean led Cas over to the brow of the hill on top of which the bakery sat. It wasn’t especially high, but the fields were spread out around them like a patched carpet, the hedges forming rough seams.

“Let’s sit,” Dean said, squatting down and sitting on the ground, which was dusty and dried by the wind. He patted the space next to him, and Cas bent down to join him.

They stared off together across the fields and towards the horizon, where the dark clouds seemed to be gathering. There was a soft grumble of thunder, and as Cas watched, he saw a lick of lightning flicker down and fork towards the ground.

“Dean,” Cas said after a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Dean said, not turning to look at Cas.

“For making me pay attention,” Cas replied. He felt the collar of Dean’s jacket rubbing lightly at the back of his neck, a soft sensation. He tucked his hands deep inside the sleeves, brought his knees up to his chest, and sighed.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Cas decided to take a bath in the evening. He’d completed his homework – and he felt as though he’d done it well; he’d put real thought into his English essay, and found the Math homework as easy as he always did. He felt as though he’d earned a little relaxation, and since most of his classmates were spending the night drinking in Balthazar’s room, he thought there was little likelihood of being disturbed.

Lying in the hot water, the air thick with steam, Cas finally allowed himself to relax. He’d been avoiding thinking about Dean, or about anything other than Milton and Trigonometry all day; letting his thoughts turn back to yesterday felt like letting out a breath that he’d been holding.

It had been a good day, a wonderful day. The pie had been delicious, and the conversation with Dean had been so easy – and when Jo had come over to join in, she’d been warm and friendly towards Cas. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to hang out with friends; thinking back to how easy the conversation had been compared to normal made Cas smile. He splashed his hands into the water, watching the way the drips ran down his fingers when he held them up in the air.

He’d been feeling strange and awkward for so long, and this was a glimpse into another life. If he was honest, he’d been thinking of himself purely as the guy who didn’t want to have sex even though he was eighteen years old and capable of attracting interest. Somehow, in the space of a couple of years, his entire identity had shrunk down into not liking anyone in a sexual way. All the bullying and judgement from his peers had only helped to convince him that the only interesting thing about him was the possibility that he might want to have sex with any one of them, and once that was off the cards, he wasn’t a person who was worth spending time with. But that wasn’t true, Cas thought. He wasn’t just the boy who didn’t want to have sex. He was also the boy who liked bees and riding in cars and long walks through the forest and fresh bread and pie and talking with friends by the fire and Dean Winchester.

Cas let his thoughts linger over Dean, and he realised that he was smiling slightly to himself. Dean had rapidly become the best friend that Cas had, perhaps even the best friend that Cas had ever had before; he was kind, and funny, and warm, and stubborn, and outspoken, and attractive –

Cas rolled that last word through his mind. Was he just using it because that’s what people called handsome or good-looking people, or was he truly attracted to Dean? He tried to examine his feelings. He thought about having sex with Dean – tried to imagine the physical reality of it – and found himself as disinterested and mildly grossed out as ever. The thought of it didn’t leave him as tense and uneasy as usual – probably because he trusted Dean – but the fact remained that he felt no stirring of interest, no enthusiasm for the idea.

And yet – Cas thought about Dean’s hands, and his cheeks, and his soft hair and his shoulders. He would very much like to run his hands through that hair, and kiss his cheeks, and have Dean’s hands on his hips. He’d like to lie next to Dean, feel the warm line of his body next to his own, turn his head and look into Dean’s eyes, count the tiny freckles on his cheeks, lean in closer and kiss his lips…

Cas shifted, the water swirling around him. He was being unfair, and he knew it – unfair to Dean, for wanting this to happen, and unfair to himself, for imagining all these things that could never be, causing himself pain. Dean was definitely not asexual, and asking him to be in a monogamous relationship with someone who’d never want to have sex with him just didn’t seem fair at all. Dean deserved a relationship that was full of the things he wanted, Cas knew. He deserved to be with someone who could fulfil all of his needs, and he couldn’t be that person. He wanted to be – god, how desperately did he want to be? But he couldn’t pretend, especially since Dean knew the truth anyway.

Cas slapped his hands against the surface of the water. It was so _unfair._ The whole thing was unfair. Couldn’t he have been born with a sense of sexual attraction? Couldn’t the idea of sex turn him on just a little, instead of making him feel at best indifferent and at worst, deeply uncomfortable? It made everything so much harder.

Well, not everything, Cas corrected himself. It didn’t make driving in a car harder, or eating pie, or sitting on a hill watching the storm gather on the horizon. But it made being in a relationship with Dean harder – so much harder that it was completely impossible.

Cas stood up abruptly, and began towelling himself dry. He couldn’t allow himself to run through this thought cycle too many times: he’d already spent most of Saturday night caught in the endless loop of liking Dean, but liking him too much to want Dean to like him back. He sighed, and stepped out of the bath.

The next day, he found another note in his locker.

_Come to mine next Saturday morning? I want to take you somewhere. You’ll like it._

**

“You ever been to a market before?” Dean said, shifting down to third as they rounded a corner in the Impala. Cas shook his head silently, watching the trees moving past the window. They’d been driving for half an hour or so, and the low thrum of the car had lulled Cas into a soft, quiet mood.

“I think you’re gonna like it. They do all sorts, arts and crafts, food, second-hand books and movies, records… this is where I got most of my vinyl collection, and my record player, too. I know this great little stall that does burgers, we can have those for lunch. If you want, that is. D’you like burgers?”

“I’ve actually… never had one,” Cas said, continuing to look out the window. He heard Dean’s little grunt of surprise and turned to look at him. “My mother is very keen on healthy eating. We never had any greasy food in the house.”

“What? But the grease is the goodness!” said Dean, with a grin.

“I’m not sure that’s quite how –”

“Just wait ‘til you taste it, you’ll see what I mean. When they fry the onions just right and the cheese melts… mmm. Yeah. You gotta try it.”

“Alright,” said Cas, though he thought it sounded fairly horrible. He’d probably take a couple of bites to be polite, and then say that he was full. His mother always said that you couldn’t trust food that didn’t come from a supermarket, as well… he wondered if Dean would notice if he just ate some of the bun, rather than the burger itself.

“OK, here we go,” Dean said, slowing the Impala and pulling into a field. He parked at the end of a long line of cars, beneath a large banner with bunting across the top that read _Market here Today!!_

When Dean had shut off the engine, Cas opened his door and stepped outside. His shoes, shiny black and polished for school, immediately sank an inch or so into the soft turf. When he lifted one of them up, there was a ring of brown mud around the edge.

“We can clean them off later,” Dean said, giving Cas a shock as he came up behind him. “Don’t worry, this is worth it. Come on.”

He began walking in the direction of a group of what seemed to be tents, with crowds of people milling around between them. When they reached the first tent, Cas saw that there was a low wooden table set up outside it, and they’d stretched out the entrance of the tent like an awning above it. The stallholders were standing behind the table, showing people their wares: little trinket boxes, it looked like, brightly-coloured and sparkling with sequins.

“Alright, Pamela?” Cas heard Dean call beside him, and turned to look; Dean was waving to a woman sitting behind a cloth-covered table, with crystal balls and gemstones laid out haphazardly all over it.

“Want me to tell your future, Dean Winchester?” the woman called back, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear with a teasing smile. Dean approached the stall with Cas following him, having to shoulder his way through the crowds.

“I know my future already,” Dean said gruffly. “What about Cas?”

The woman named Pamela gave Cas a sharp glance. She was wearing a raggedy band t-shirt that was similar to the one Dean had on, but her jeans were much tighter than Dean’s. She looked Cas over for a second, and then said,

“I think this one is going to make his own future. He doesn’t need me to tell him anything.” She smiled a little at Cas, and then made a little shooing motion with her hands. “You boys are slowing my trade, here. Get your asses off my property!”

Dean rolled his eyes and put a hand on Cas’ shoulder, guiding him away with a parting wave to Pamela. They moved on through the market; Cas could smell cheese, and bread, and fish. They walked past a stall with bags hanging from pegs, and Cas put out a hand to feel the soft, satiny finish.

“Do you like that?” Dean asked, pausing and waiting for Cas to catch up.

“I like it,” Cas confirmed, running the fabric of a vivid green bag through his fingers.

“We’ll keep looking at stuff after lunch,” Dean said, and Cas’ stomach gave a little rumble at the promise of food. “I’m starved, come on.”

He led the way through the crowd; Cas walked next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and they kept being jostled into each other as they moved. Each time it happened, they’d share a little exasperated smile and turn away.

“Here we go,” said Dean, as they arrived at one of the last tents in the long line. There was a strong smell of cooking meat, and to one side there were hay bales which people were sitting on to eat their lunches. Dean approached the tent, where a small guy was standing behind a metal table, rubbing his hand through his hair and chewing on a toothpick. “Ash, how’s it going?”

“Dean Winchester! Days’re always better when you show your ugly face,” said the man named Ash. Cas opened his mouth to say that Dean wasn’t ugly, but Dean was laughing and leaning over to bump fists with Ash: it was a joke, and Cas found himself blushing at the embarrassment that he’d nearly brought on himself.

“Two of your finest,” Dean was saying, a hand on Cas’ elbow. “One for me, and one for Cas.”

“Heya, Cas. Good to meet you. Have today’s burger on me. Any friend of Dean’s, as they say…” Ash waved away Cas’ protestations, and turned away to face the grill that was just visible at the back of the tent. Dean gestured for Cas to move towards one of the hay bales, and they sat down together.

“It’ll just be a few minutes,” Dean said, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forwards, so that his t-shirt was stretched over his shoulders. The hair at the back of his neck was short and slightly bristly-looking; Cas repressed the urge to run his palm over it, and turned his attention back to the crowds of people at the market. He could hear the sounds of haggling and laughing, and the faint sizzle of their burgers being cooked. He dug his fingers slightly into the hay bale, enjoying the feeling of the crackly straws against his skin.

“Two specials,” Ash said a moment later, emerging from the tent with two paper plates. Dean put his hand on Cas’ shoulder to still him, getting up himself to take the plates and bring them back over to where they were sitting.

“OK,” he said. “Here we go. Cas’ first burger. Dig in, man. Let’s see if you like it.”

Cas picked the burger up cautiously. It smelled fairly good, he had to admit. The bun was soft between his fingers and he could see onions and cheese and some kind of sauce in there, as well as the patty. He squeezed it slightly, and a little drip of golden juice oozed out and fell onto his plate. Cas swallowed. His mother would have a heart attack if she could see what he was about to do – which would be ironic, since the reason she didn’t eat greasy food was because she didn’t want cardiac problems in later life. It made sense, Cas thought. But the burger smelled good, and Dean was watching him with an expectant grin on his face; making up his mind, Cas cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and took a huge bite of burger.

He chewed, slowly.

It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted in his life.

The burger was cooked tender and perfect, and the onions were wonderfully sweet, and the cheese was melty and greasy, and the bun was so soft and the strange sauce was slightly sour, slightly sharp. Cas swallowed, reluctantly, after he’d chewed it properly; he felt it slide, warm and tasty, into his stomach. It was one of the best feelings he’d ever had. He opened his eyes, and caught Dean watching him, his mouth slightly open.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I like it a lot,” Cas said, his tone betraying his surprise in a way that made Dean smile.

“You thought you were gonna hate it, huh?” he said, taking a bite of his own burger and groaning slightly. He turned and made a gesture to Ash, creating an O with his thumb and first finger and grinning. Ash gave him a thumbs up from behind his metal table.

“Yes,” Cas admitted, taking another big bite and chewing it with just as much relish as the first. “But it’s incredible. How does he make it taste so good?”

“Never told me,” Dean said ruefully, licking a smear of sauce off his finger. “Says it’s a family secret. That’s crap, obviously, but he won’t send me a link to whatever recipe he uses.”

Cas munched thoughtfully on his burger. They sat in silence for a while, watching the crowd. Every now and then, Dean would point out someone he knew, or pass a comment on someone’s outfit or hairstyle.

“Whoa, look at those tattoos,” he said, as a short girl with dark brown hair walked past. “Those are amazing. I wonder where she got them.”

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” Cas asked curiously, taking another bite. He was getting dangerously close to finishing his burger already, and he wasn’t even slightly ready to stop eating it.

“Me? Yeah, sure, if I found something I really liked. Maybe something to do with rock music… a Led Zep tattoo, maybe.”

“Led Zep?” Cas asked, knowing that Dean would roll his eyes at the question. Sure enough, Dean threw him an exasperated look as he put the last bite of burger into his mouth.

“Led Zeppelin,” he said thickly. “Best band ever. Dude, we have got to get you listening to some decent music. Do you trust me yet to show you the good stuff?”

“I always trusted you,” Cas said, without really thinking, and then blushed. Dean was looking pleased, however, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Well, then. My place, tomorrow night? Or do you have homework?”

“It’s just revision work now until the end of term,” Cas said, with a slight shrug. He contemplated the last of his burger morosely. “I have my finals, and then I have to go.”

“Leave?” Dean said, a little blankly. “Yeah, right, of course… it’s your last year. You going to college?”

“Stanford,” Cas confirmed, and Dean beamed.

“No way, that’s where Sammy wants to go! They reckon he can get a full scholarship if he works hard enough, but I’m saving up and so is Bobby, just in case. Are you getting one of those?”

“No,” said Cas, his eyes fixed on the burger that was cooling in his hands. “No, I don’t need one of those. My mother is paying for me to go, and she’ll buy me a house there, too.”

Dean whistled.

“Man, I knew you were rich ‘cause you go to that school with its blazers and dormitories and all that crap… but seriously, you must be loaded!”

“Yes,” Cas said simply. “We are.”

“Good for you,” Dean said, without a trace of sarcasm. “I’m jealous, but it’s great that you have the money to go to Stanford, Cas. And to have your own house, man, that’s gonna be great.”

“Yes,” Cas said uncertainly. “It’ll probably be very big, knowing my mother. It will be strange after spending so long living in just one room.”

“You’ll just have to fill it up,” said Dean stoutly, wiping his hands on a paper towel and smiling, though Cas thought he could see a little twist of sadness in the expression. “Fill it right up with all of your favourite things.”

Cas bit his bottom lip a little, trying to smile and match Dean’s expression.

“Not all of my favourite things can come with me,” he said softly. Dean’s face went suddenly still.

“Oh, yeah?” he said. Cas opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Dean was holding his gaze with an intensity that almost took his breath away; he was suddenly sure that if he wanted to, he could lean forwards and Dean would match the action and they would meet in the middle –

Cas swallowed and jerked his head backwards slightly. Aware that the moment had passed, Dean rubbed his hand along the line of his jaw and looked away.

“Yes,” said Cas seriously, and Dean swung his gaze back around. “The history building is a wonderful piece of architecture, but I think even my mother wouldn’t be able to pay to have it moved to California.”

Dean snorted and shook his head, smiling. Cas put his last bite of burger into his mouth, and Dean reached over to take Cas’ empty plate. He folded it over with his own and threw them; they sailed through the air, and landed neatly in the trash can. Cas made a little impressed noise, and Dean turned to him with a smug smile.

“I’m Batman,” he said. Cas rolled his eyes, but couldn’t repress a smile. Dean chuckled and leaned back slightly on the hay bale, his arms out behind him to support his weight. After a moment or two of silence, Cas found himself mirroring his pose, planting his hands into the hay and putting his legs out straight in front of him so that he could see the mud still clinging to his shoes, thick and stodgy.

“So, you wanna come back here for more burgers sometime?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded, looking over at Ash, who was cleaning a frying pan and talking to some customers.

“They make me very happy,” he said, and Dean smiled.

“Good,” he said simply. He shifted slightly, and suddenly his thumb was brushing against Castiel’s, buried in the hay. Cas looked down quickly, and then up at Dean, who was looking out over the market as though completely unconscious of the touch. Cas swallowed, and looked away. He didn’t move his hand.

A few seconds later, Dean moved – he hooked his thumb more firmly around Cas’. After a moment, Cas bent his thumb too, so that they were curled together.

They sat there for a long time, pretending to watch the market with faces brighter than the setting sun.


	6. Chapter 6

“Lie down on the floor.”

“Pardon?” Cas frowned at Dean, who gestured down at the carpet. It was the next night, and Cas had arrived at Dean’s house, ready for the promised musical education.

“Lie down on the floor. Just do it, OK? Trust me, it’s better that way.”

Cas lifted his shoulders, opening and closing his mouth in bemusement, but Dean had already turned away, heading for his bookshelves.

“OK, I’m going to play it to you on a mixtape of mine,” Dean said, pulling a tape out from the bottom shelf and taking the cassette out of the case. “Vinyl has the best sound quality – it’s a little raw, but it’s real, you know? But I’ve got all my favourites in a row on this tape, so I’ll just put it on, and we can listen. Are you on the floor?”

Cas sighed and lay down on the carpet. At least Dean kept his house nice and clean, he thought. He wouldn’t get dust on his clothes.

“Right, the first one is called When the Levee Breaks. It’s by Led Zeppelin, and it’s… well, I’ll let you make up your own mind. Ready?”

“Ready, Dean,” said Cas from his place on the floor. The lamp was casting its usual golden glow; Cas shut his eyes as he heard Dean hit the play button, and the light smoothed over his closed eyelids.

The first sound that he heard was drums, low and slow, and then the guitar came in – a throaty whine, arrhythmic and strange, over the top of the beat. He was aware of Dean coming to lie down beside him on the carpet, but tried to keep his mind on the music. It was a little shrill and uncomfortable, but he liked the drumbeat. He was just starting to wonder if there would be any singing on the track, when the vocals kicked in.

_If it keeps on raining, levee’s going to break…_

The voice was a little scratchy and slightly slurry, pronouncing the words strangely. Cas tried to concentrate on the words, but they didn’t seem to make much sense to him. What did he know about levees, anyway? They were structures for defending a city against flooding, but Cas was fairly sure that the man wasn’t referring to any specific impending geographical disaster. He found himself becoming a little annoyed at the lack of sense in the lyrics, and was glad when they stopped, and the song returned to being instrumental.

The beat was steady, and the guitar had a rolling rhythm to it now that Cas found himself starting to like. In a way, the music felt a little bit like being driven in Dean’s car. There was that same sense of moving slowly, of not engaging fully in his thoughts, but rather letting them move past in a steady stream. When the lyrics came back in, Cas still didn’t understand them – but then, he didn’t really understand a tree or a hill or a field when he was being driven past them in Dean’s car. The point wasn’t to understand, it was to look – or to listen – and to let his thoughts run loose, without becoming lost in them completely.

The guitar pulled back suddenly, leaving only the heavy beat and the bass guitar.

_Going down, going down now, going down…_

Before Cas was ready, the song came to an end. He didn’t move, coming out of his feeling of immersion slowly; when he was ready, after a couple of seconds, he glanced over at Dean.

“Right?” Dean said, smiling slightly at the spaced look on Cas’ face. Cas nodded. “The next one’s kinda similar.”

The guitar came in at that point – light and gentle, with the sound of a wind instrument coming in to accompany it after a few seconds. Cas relaxed, closing his eyes, letting the music swirl around him.

_There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold,_

_And she’s buying a stairway to heaven…_

The singer’s voice sounded so sad, this time around. Cas felt his heart twist slightly, even though he’d never met the woman that the singer was talking about, even though the sadness that he was feeling wasn’t his own. It felt strange, and new, to experience someone else’s emotion just because he was hearing their voice, and listening to the sweet, sad sound of the guitar behind it.

_There’s a feeling I get when I look to the west_

_And my spirit is crying for leaving._

Cas felt emotion swell inside him. Those were words that he understood completely: the number of times that he’d stood at the window of his room, unmoving, staring out at the sunset and wishing that he could follow the sun as it dipped over the horizon and disappeared. For the first time, he felt the music touch something inside him, a place in his mind that he had thought was his alone.

_And it’s whispered that soon, if we all call the tune_

_Then the piper will lead us to reason._

_And a new day will dawn for those who stand long_

_And the forests will echo with laughter._

Cas felt the corners of his mouth twitch down. That thought, the idea of a new day – a fresh start, after he’d been simply surviving for so long at this school – made a sadness that was all his own, a little painful and a little hopeful, stir in his chest. It was such a beautiful idea. It felt to Cas as though the music was reaching out and taking his hand, a hand that he’d been holding clenched closed inside his mind. The song started to build, becoming louder and fiercer, and Cas followed it, riding the crescendo like a rollercoaster, feeling a sense of exhilaration when the melody levelled out and began to slow.

_And she’s buying a stairway to heaven…_

The last note faded. Cas took a deep breath. He wanted to listen to the song again, and he also never wanted to hear it again. The feeling in his chest began to lessen a little, but it didn’t fade away.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice soft and unobtrusive. Cas opened his eyes and looked over, hoping that the strangely intense feelings that he was experiencing weren’t too obvious. Dean, however, reached down and took Cas’ hand, and gave it a squeeze. “It’s OK,” he said, and Cas nodded. He twitched his mouth upwards in a smile.

“It’s very sad,” he said quietly, which was woefully inadequate at describing how he felt about the song, but it was the best he could manage. Dean swallowed visibly and nodded.

“The next one is different,” he said.

The song kicked in, and straight away, Cas understood what Dean meant. It _was_ different. The guitar was loud and low, and as Cas listened, it started to build, going higher and higher, making Cas feel as though he were approaching something important, or readying himself for a battle. The music seemed to make him feel stronger with every passing second, and as it continued to climb Cas felt everything seem to move into epic slow-motion.

_Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream_

_I am a traveller of both time and space, to be where I have been…_

Cas felt himself rising up, as though the music were somehow elevating his soul and sending it into the stratosphere. Everything seemed at once very small, and very beautiful; the guitar was still building and falling under the vocals, round and round, darkly repetitive with an edge of danger that set Cas’ heart racing. He let the lyrics wash over him, not clinging to each word but understanding the general meaning. The melody rose and fell, flattening out and then rising again, and Cas felt as though he were flying, swooping up with each sweep of his wings, and then feeling the pull of gravity calling him back to Earth, over and over again. He felt high above everything, powerful and untouchable. He felt as though if he moved, he’d spray stardust out of his sleeves.

When the song ended, he felt Dean stand up and move across the room to press the stop button.

“Kashmir,” he said, reverentially.

“It… it was…” Cas said, seeking the words.

“Yeah, I know,” he heard Dean say. “That’s music, Cas. That’s why we listen. Because it can make us feel like that.”

“I wasn’t doing it right,” Cas confessed, staring up at Dean’s plain white ceiling.

“No,” said Dean, and Cas could hear the smile in his voice. “You weren’t. I think that’s enough for tonight, though. I don’t wanna blow your mind. But here, you can take this.”

Cas sat up to find Dean heading back towards him across the little living room, holding onto a white wire. Dangling at the end was a little pink iPod, which Cas caught in the flat of his hand; Dean let go of the wire, and a pair of headphones fell into Cas’ palm as well.

“There’s all my favourite stuff on there,” he said. “Take it, listen to what you want. Oh, there’s also some dumb stuff… uh, my brother put that on there. But maybe you’ll like it, whatever. Anyway, enjoy. You wanna play cards?”

When Cas returned to his room that night, after a couple of hours learning how to play poker with Dean, Cas sat on his bed and turned on the iPod. His room was bathed in a soft, milky moonlight that turned his rough sheets into satin and pooled silver across his mirror and the metal of his bedstead.

It took Cas a few minutes to work out how to navigate the iPod; he scrolled along a list of genres – or perhaps playlists – that Dean had obviously named himself. _Rock Anthems_ was one, _Even More Rock Music_ was another, _All the Led Zep Hell Yeah_ was another. Nearer the bottom, Cas found a playlist called _Classical Crap._ He pressed select and found himself on a list of songs; he picked one at random, and leaned back against his pillows to listen with his eyes closed.

The music started slowly, light and shy. Cas settled in, feeling his sleepiness begin to take over –

And then the violins came in, and Cas opened his eyes. Every note seemed to run a line straight through him, high and sharp as silver, beautiful and sad and hopeful. It felt – Cas sighed at himself, and yet – it felt like the feeling he had whenever he looked at Dean, but magnified, or concentrated somehow, distilled into a purity that ached. The melody fell, lowered into softer, happier notes, but there was still that underlying sorrow – that sensation of being completely happy, and suffering terribly, and doing something extremely important and cataclysmic, and never stopping, never wanting to stop. The music peaked, raised, flew – Cas shuddered as it reached its full, thrumming climax – and then, as it began to fade away, he noticed the wetness on his cheeks.

He hit select on the iPod, and the screen came back to life. Cas read the name of the song, _Arrival of the Birds,_ and logged it away to play again – and again, and again, probably.

In the meantime, he wanted something a little less emotive to wind down with before he went to sleep. He scrolled back to the playlist screen and thumbed down the list. _Eighties ballads,_ he read. _Sappy shit. Seventies stuff._ He selected the last one at random and played the first song – _Hooked on a Feeling,_ read the title.

He nearly fell of his bed at the start, when the quasi-tribal chanting kicked in. He paused it for a moment, laughed at himself, and then pressed play again.

_I can’t stop this feeling_

_Deep inside of me…_

Cas leaned back on his pillows once more, letting the song unfold. He felt sleep coming for him, and relaxed into it. The music played him out, cheesy and cheerful. Cas’ last thought before sinking into unconsciousness was of Dean, lying beside him on the floor, holding his hand and looking at him with that depth behind his eyes that made Cas want to simultaneously run away and never, ever move again…

The music played on as he drifted off, still wearing all his clothes, propped up on pillows.

_I’m hooked a feeling,_

_I’m high on believing_

_That you’re in love with me…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find a playlist of all the songs in Chapter 6 [here](http://8tracks.com/whelvenwings/ace-of-hearts), with three bonus tracks from Dean's 'Sappy Shit' playlist!


	7. Chapter 7

 “Look, just put it in your hand, go on,” Dean said, handing Cas an egg yolk.

It was a week later, and they were standing in the Roadhouse Bakery kitchen. Jo had been making cupcakes when they’d arrived for lunch, and Dean had absolutely insisted on taking over.

“Cas has never made cupcakes,” he had said, giving Cas a wink that told him to stay quiet, even though he’d made many cakes over the course of his life living at home with his mother. “I gotta educate the man, Jo!”

Jo had sighed and put down the egg that she’d been just about to break into a glass bowl.

“I do this for Castiel!” she’d said, waving a wooden spoon threateningly in Dean’s direction as she walked out. “They better be good cupcakes, Dean, or Mom will kill you.”

“She around?” Dean had hollered after her, but Jo had been out of earshot. Dean had shrugged, and they’d got started on the cake batter.

“Go on, hold it,” Dean said, holding out his hand, which had an egg yolk cupped inside.

“Dean, I don’t think you’re supposed to…”

“Dude. Take the egg yolk. Trust me.”

Cas sighed and held out his hand. With a sunny smile, Dean tipped the yolk into Cas’ palm.

“Now roll it in your hands, go on.”

Cas cast Dean a sceptical glance before gently tilting his hand, allowing the egg yolk to roll along his fingers. When it was nearing the tips, he brought up his other hand, caught it, and then set it rolling again. He looked up at Dean, beaming, tipping the yolk from one hand to the other. It felt strange, fragile and slightly sticky, but not unpleasant. He was fairly certain that when making cupcakes, one was not really supposed to roll the egg yolk around in your hands first. Cas felt a little rebellious.

He found that he quite liked the feeling.

They began to mix the eggs with sugar and butter, stirring it with a spoon. Dean moved over to one of the sacks of flour and took a big handful of flour, putting it into the bowl.

“Shouldn’t we measure the ingredients?” Cas said, but Dean shrugged.

“Always done it this way,” he said cheerfully. “Come on, grab a handful and put it in. Three should do it.”

Cas went over to where Dean was standing and dug his hand into the flour once more, enjoying the sensation and the memory of the first time he’d stood here. He put his handful into the bowl, watching the white powder begin to soak into the yellowy mixture.

“Hey, you have something in your hair. A bit of fluff,” Dean said, pointing to one side of his head. Cas frowned and reached up his hand, running it through his hair.

“Is it gone?” he asked, but Dean was wearing a thin-lipped, bright-eyed expression, as though he were trying to keep from laughing. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing… Cruella,” Dean said, releasing his laugh. Cas squinted at him in confusion, putting his hand up to his head again. For some reason, this sparked a fresh set of giggles from Dean.

“What did you call me?” he asked, patting at his hair. Dean reached up and caught Cas’ wrist, showing Cas his own hand: it was still a little white with residual flour. “Oh! Did I…?”

“Yep,” said Dean, his face still creased with laughter. “You look like Cruella de Vil.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Cas said distractedly, batting at his hair and seeing little puffs of white dust rising out of it in the corner of his eye.

“Because… because your hair is half white and half dark. You look like this character from a movie, Cruella de Vil. She was mean, but boy… she really had style,” Dean said, obviously trying very hard to subdue his laughter at Cas’ new look and his expression of disgruntled dismay.

Cas eyed him narrowly. He reached out a hand, and picked up some flour.

Dean’s eyes went wide.

“You wouldn’t,” he said. “Cas. You don’t have to do this. I’m sorry, OK. I’m sorry I laughed at your amazing new hairstyle – ahh!”

Cas threw the flour, and it sprayed in a cloud over Dean’s face and hair, gathering around his lips and nose. He stood absolutely still for a second, blinking, and then –

“You little –!”

Dean picked up his own handful of flour and threw it, but Cas was too fast; he ducked and seized some flour before backing away, one hand raised warily.

“Dean, I’m not sure that we should be throwing flour when we’re supposed to be –”

Dean cut him off effectively by launching a fistful of flour at his face; Cas retaliated quickly, and flour cascaded down the back of Dean’s neck. He gave a little yell and dipped his hand in the flour sack before lifting it out and reaching out to swipe it neatly down one side of Cas’ face. Cas glared at him and lifted his own floury hand; he’d just grabbed Dean’s shoulder when a loud, angry voice said,

“What the _hell_ is going on in here?”

Cas and Dean sprang to attention, standing side by side with their backs straight. In the doorway stood a short woman with long, greying hair and Jo’s eyes. Her expression was currently so stony that it could have been chiselled from granite. Cas gulped and tried not to look too guilty.

“Ellen,” said Dean, in a tone that he’d probably thought would sound jaunty and unconcerned. The overall effect was more one of mild terror.

“Dean,” said Ellen. She looked them both up and down. “You’ve made cupcakes before, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Ellen,” said Dean, sounding cowed.

“Tell me, Dean, when we made cupcakes… where did we put the flour?”

Dean mumbled something incomprehensible, and Ellen tucked a hand behind her ear.

“Speak up, there, son.”

“In the bowl,” Dean muttered.

“That’s right. In the bowl. Now, you two get on with the cakes, and make sure that all of the ingredients end up where they’re supposed to go.” She cast a slightly softer glance towards Cas, who offered her a small, nervous smile.

“You’ll be Castiel?” she asked, and Cas nodded silently. “Good to meet you, Castiel. I’m glad you boys are having fun, though I’d rather it didn’t happen at the cost of my flour. I will not have a repeat of the Victoria Sponge Incident.”

Cas nodded again, and smiled a little more confidently. Ellen made to leave, but then turned back at the last moment, one hand on the doorframe.

“Oh, and Dean? I called up a friend, and he said he could find you a job out in Cali. It’s right near Stanford, too, and it pays better than the job I got you at the school. Let me know if you want me to follow it up, I can give you the guy’s number. Name’s Victor, he wants a PA. Says he doesn’t mind that you’re young, either, so we wouldn’t have to lie about your age this time.”

“Right,” said Dean, ignoring Cas’ sideways stare. “Great, that’s great. Thanks, Ellen.”

Ellen left, and Dean turned to meet Cas’ gaze.

“For when Sam’s at school there,” Dean said carelessly. “I wanna be close to him if I can, you know?”

“That would be ideal,” Cas agreed, not voicing any of the confusion that he felt. Was Dean planning on moving out to California a couple of years in advance, to put down roots before Sam arrived? But why would he do that?

“Cupcakes!” Dean said loudly, moving back towards the table. Cas followed him, setting aside his questions.

Later that evening, they were walking back to the school whilst munching on a cupcake each. They were strawberry vanilla cupcakes, with a little piece of strawberry balanced atop a mound of whipped cream, which sat neatly on a vanilla-flavoured sponge. Cas licked his lips appreciatively as he put the last bite into his mouth.

“We should go for burgers again soon,” he said to Dean, who grinned.

“You’re damn right,” Dean said. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

The evening was turning into night, and there was a subtle chill to the air.

“I’ve been listening to your iPod,” Cas said, after a minute or so.

“Oh, yeah? Find anything else you like?”

“Yes,” said Cas. “Everything.”

Dean laughed, and reached out, and pulled Cas’ hand into his own.

“Sounds like you,” he said, interlacing their fingers. Cas, his heart beating fast, didn’t trust himself to speak.

As they walked along the path to the dorm building, Cas caught sight of a figure leaning up against the wall. His bubble of complete happiness popped in the space of a second as he recognised who it was. He looked down and began to walk faster, hoping that Gordon hadn’t noticed them, or would perhaps leave them alone. He wasn’t remotely afraid of Gordon whilst he had Dean with him, but he didn’t want their evening to be spoiled.

“Oh, look who it is!” said Gordon, in his most strident and obnoxious tone. Cas felt Dean’s grip on his hand tighten as they both looked around. “It’s Cas the Ice Queen and his boyfriend Dean. What’s up, assholes? Cas, are you finally getting some action?”

“Hey, why don’t you back off,” Dean said, his voice a low, threatening growl.

“I’ll take that as a no. Blue-balling you too, is he, Deano? Damn, Cas, you’re gonna have to put out one day.”

“Dean,” said Cas warningly, as Dean dropped his hand and moved towards Gordon, his shoulders set. “Come on, it’s not worth our time.” He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder to pull him away.

“Maybe Cas just doesn’t like either of us, Dean,” said Gordon in a mock-tragic tone, following them down the path as they turned away and started walking. “I don’t get it. I mean, I don’t get why he doesn’t like me. You, I get. I mean, you’re just the janitor. I bet you taste like bleach all over. I wouldn’t want it either, Cas.”

Cas stopped dead, in the middle of the path.

“Cas?” Dean said, in a low voice. Cas looked up into Dean’s eyes, and saw that they were bright with anger, and… hurt.

Something in Cas snapped.

He turned round and faced Gordon, his jaw set. Gordon’s expression was one of smug triumph, having finally made Cas irritated enough to argue with him.

Cas raised his hand, curled it into a fist, and punched Gordon in the face.

The punch landed squarely on Gordon’s nose. The boy gave a yell of surprise and pain, and doubled over, clutching at his face.

“Cas!” Dean yelped, and Cas felt him fist his hand in the back of his sweater, pulling him away. Gordon looked up, his nose bleeding profusely and his eyes wide with shock.

“You hit me!” he yelled thickly, through the blood, wincing at the pain.

“I told you to leave us alone,” Cas said furiously, as Dean dragged him away. “Don’t ever talk about Dean like that again, or I’ll hit you harder next time.”

“But – but…” Gordon began, and then his breath hitched in fear as Cas broke free of Dean’s grip and started back towards him. “OK, OK! I’m going!”

He turned on his heel and ran, half-stumbling, towards his own dorm building. Cas stood staring after him, breathing a little hard.

“Cas…” said Dean, coming up to stand next to him. “You OK?”

“Yes, Dean,” said Cas, taking his eyes off the retreating figure of Gordon to look at Dean. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, dude.” Dean’s expression was one that Cas couldn’t quite fathom. “Why did you do that?”

Cas looked at Dean, unable to believe that he didn’t already know – but Dean’s expression was one of genuine curiosity.

“He insulted you,” said Cas, settling for the simplest answer he could think of. Dean gaped at him.

“And you think – you think that I’m – worth –” Dean seemed lost for words. Cas frowned at him, tilting his head.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “You don’t think you deserve to be defended?”

Dean appeared to be unable to meet Cas’ eyes. Cas felt a sudden wave of anger.

“That is ridiculous, Dean,” he said crossly. “That is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard. You’re so obviously –”

“Don’t,” interrupted Dean, shaking his head and stepping away. “Don’t, Cas. Whatever nice thing you’re going to say, just… I’m not that, OK? And if you think I am, then you don’t really know me, because I’m just – I’m nothing, really, alright.” Cas made a little noise of dissent, and Dean scowled. “It’s true! I’m just a sad fuck, sitting in his stupid little house, doing nothing worthwhile with my life whilst the people I care about grow up, and move on, and leave!”

Dean turned away, and took a few steps. Cas could see his shoulders moving up and down as he tried to control his breathing, and his hands were shaking where they hung loosely down by his sides.

“Brilliant,” said Cas. Dean went still. After a moment, he swung around. His eyes were rimmed with red, and he looked furious about it.

“What?” he demanded.

“Brilliant. I was going to say that you are so obviously brilliant. Brilliant, fantastic, amazing. Incredible. Unbelievable.” With every word, Cas moved a little closer to Dean. “Unbelievable, because I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you in my life, Dean.” Dean gave a little disbelieving snort of laughter, so Cas squared his shoulders. “When you found me, I thought I was something broken!” he said, louder than he’d intended. “I thought that I couldn’t feel anything, I thought I was some kind of – of computer, incapable of truly feeling anything at all. But you took me out in your car, you introduced me to your friends, you showed me your music… you showed me how to feel, Dean! Do you know how few people would have looked at me and seen someone worth spending time with?”

“So I saw someone as lonely as I was and I tried to help,” said Dean. “Big freaking deal, Cas!”

“Is that all I am to you? A charity case?” Cas demanded, and Dean’s expression seemed to collapse for a second.

“Cas – no, that’s not what I –”

“I didn’t think so,” Cas snapped. “Listen to me, Dean. You are brilliant. You are brilliant, and radiant, and amazing. You’re the best thing – you’re… the shift from third to fourth in the Impala. You’re the loaf of bread, fresh out of the oven. You’re the highest note in When the Levee Breaks. You’re the Arrival of the Birds.” Cas swallowed. “You’re the person I care about most in the whole world.”

“Cas…” Dean said, his expression more intense, more terrified, more hopeful than Cas had ever seen before.

“It’s true,” Cas said. “And if you think that I’m just going to be able to move on from you, if you think that I’m just going to be able to leave you behind and never think about you again, then Dean… this time, _you’re_ the one who hasn’t been paying attention. The thought of leaving you –” Cas broke off, choked up, unable to go on.

Dean took a step forward and pulled Cas into a fierce hug, all ribs and shoulders and angles.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice cracking. Cas raised his arms and wrapped them around Dean; the embrace softened, and they leaned into each other, both breathing a little hard and blinking furiously.

“I can’t believe I used to daydream about leaving this place,” Cas said. “Now all I can think about is how much I want to stay.”

Dean let out a little choking laugh and squeezed Cas closer before letting him go, his hand lingering for a moment at the base of Cas’ neck before dropping back down to his side.

“We better stop crying into each other’s shoulders and get some sleep,” he said gruffly, checking his watch. “It’s getting late, and you have to revise tomorrow. Oh, and I have to do some work, too.”

For a brief, crazy second, Cas was incredibly tempted to invite Dean back to his room. He wanted so badly to fall asleep to the sound of Dean breathing, maybe with his head on Dean’s chest, or maybe curled up facing him, so close that he could feel Dean’s breath against his lips.

“Cas?”

Cas shook himself. We’ve been through this, he told himself. You can’t have that. You can't ask that of Dean. You can’t expect him to want to share a bed with you whilst not having sex with you. It’s not fair.

He pasted a little smile onto his face and nodded.

“You’re right. We should get to bed.”

Dean nodded silently. Neither of them seemed especially keen to leave the other, but eventually, Dean coughed and took a step back.

“Well, listen, if I don’t see you before, come by mine next weekend? I’ve got some work to do on Baby, but you could bring a book and… god, what am I talking about, that sounds like the most boring day ever. Forget that, we’ll do something else –”

“No, no,” Cas said hastily. “I like the sound of that plan, Dean. I’ll see you next Saturday, if not before.”

“It’s a date,” said Dean, and then turned bright pink and walked away.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas’ week passed in a haze of studying and deliberately not thinking about Dean at all, in the slightest.

OK, so he allowed himself a pocket of thought every now and then. He’d take Dean’s pink iPod out of his pocket and listen to music (mostly from the _Classical Crap_ playlist) and permit his mind to linger over Dean’s smile, and the way he’d looked with flour on his face, and how it had felt when he’d run his hand over the back of Cas’ neck.

Other than that, though, Cas’ mind was a totally Dean-free zone.

He was sitting in the library, staring off into space and not thinking about Dean, the next time that he saw Gordon. The boy’s nose was still a little swollen. He was walking with Bartholomew, who caught sight of Cas and nudged Gordon with a sly smile on his face.

Cas stared Gordon down, his face set in stone (he was channelling Ellen). Gordon’s eye twitched slightly, and then he muttered something to Bartholomew, who looked surprised, but followed the other boy’s lead as he walked away.

Cas took out Dean’s iPod, and scrolled through the playlists until he found the one labelled _Queen._ He bent back to his work, with _Another One Bites the Dust_ playing in his ears.

**

That Saturday, Cas woke up mid-morning and rolled out of bed. He peered out his window; the sun was just visible behind grey, fluffy clouds, and when he opened the window, the air had a cool, refreshing edge to it. Cas took a deep breath, and then turned away.

He showered quickly in the bathroom, and then returned to his room to get dressed as fast as he could, before picking up his History textbook and walking out the door.

On the way to Dean’s house, Cas held his book against his chest and shivered. He’d underestimated how cold it would be outside, but he figured that he could probably borrow something of Dean’s again.

He wondered whether he’d deliberately chosen not to wear warm enough clothing just so that he could borrow something of Dean’s, and then decided he didn’t want to know the answer to that question, and didn’t examine his motives too carefully.

When he knocked on the door, Dean threw it open and took one look at the goosebumps up his bare arms before pulling him inside.

“You’re not in California yet, moron,” Dean said, pulling his leather jacket off its peg and handing it to Cas. “Hang on a second, I’ve got something somewhere that would suit you just… great…” He pulled the coats on the rack back and forth, searching under them for something. At last, he gave a little grunt of triumph and lifted aloft something small, grey and woollen, which he proceeded to pull over Cas’ head. Cas was about to protest, but the hat was very warm, and Dean was fussing with it and adjusting it, standing close enough to make Cas’ heart beat faster.

“Got your book? Good. I got a chair all set up for you out by Baby, let’s go. Oh, and I just made coffee, I’ll pour you a cup. You go on out there, I’ll bring it to you.”

He disappeared off into the kitchen, leaving Cas to head back out of the front door. He felt strangely small in Dean’s jacket and hat, but very cosy. He walked around the side of the house, heading for the driveway where the Impala was parked. When he reached it, he saw that Dean had set up a neat little canvas chair for him; it had armrests and a headrest and looked very comfortable. Dean had even put a blue cushion from his armchair on it.

Cas walked over to the seat and picked up the cushion. He sat down, hugging it to his chest, and settled into the chair. Dean appeared a moment later, holding out a steaming cup.

“One cuppa joe,” he said easily, delivering it to Cas and then moving away to stand in front of the Impala. “OK, Baby, get ready for this. Time to go to work.”

“This is good,” Cas said, sipping at the coffee, being careful not to burn his tongue. “Thank you, Dean.”

“My pleasure,” said Dean with a grin, pulling his jumper over his head and casting it aside. He tugged down the grey t-shirt he was wearing so that it covered his stomach again, and then picked up a small wrench.

They worked in silence for a long while, Cas flicking through the pages of his textbook, occasionally folding down corners when he found an especially useful paragraph, and Dean leaning over the Impala, fiddling with something inside the engine.

If only he felt sexual attraction, Cas thought, as he looked over the top of his textbook at Dean’s ass and his lower back; a strip of skin was visible where his t-shirt was riding up. He’d be the luckiest guy in the world. In fact, Cas thought, even given that he was asexual, he was still probably one of the luckiest people in the world. Sexual attraction or not, it was a great view. Dean’s back was slightly tanned, his ass looked firm and nicely shaped, and his legs were bowed – something that Cas hadn’t quite noticed until this moment. Looking at them made his heart squeeze. God, he loved Dean so much.

Cas froze.

Had he really just thought that? Had that thought seriously just passed through his mind? Cas looked at Dean, who had straightened, and was examining a little screw, holding it up between two fingers and staring at it closely. I love him, Cas thought. I love him. I love him. It felt like his heart had been teetering on the edge of something for ages without him noticing, and suddenly it had taken the plunge; it felt so intense and strange and utterly irreversible. Cas took a few deep breaths, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease. He loved Dean. He was _in_ love with Dean, and yet he couldn’t even try to be with him, because…

Cas grimaced. This had gone on for long enough. The way that he felt was suddenly burning too strong for Cas to hold inside him, too fierce to be smothered or shut down.

He stood up, putting the cushion back on the seat behind him. When he turned around, Dean was watching him curiously, a smudge of oil on one cheek.

“Cas?” he said, seeming to catch the mood Cas was in and putting down the screw that he’d been holding.

“Dean…” Cas began, and then stopped. He had no idea how to say everything that was on his mind, no idea how to convey it all in words. He looked into Dean’s eyes, hoping that maybe Dean would be able to read it all there and save him explaining.

Dean looked back at him, his gaze flicking between Cas’ right and left eye.

“What is it?” he said, a little edgily. Cas blinked and looked down.

“I’m not really sure how to start,” he said in a low voice, his hands gripping the long sleeves of Dean’s jacket. Dean took a step closer, and put his hand out to squeeze Cas’ shoulder.

“Hey, just start talking,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring, still slightly edged with worry. “You can tell me anything.”

Cas nodded down at the floor, and then bit his lip and looked up into Dean’s eyes.

“Dean,” he said, and then his mind went blank, so he cleared his throat and started again. “Dean, I know that we only have a couple of weeks left here together. Under normal circumstances, that would probably be a good reason not to… start anything between us.” Cas cast Dean a quick glance before hurrying on. “But I was thinking that in this instance, it could actually work in our favour. Because if we did… if you wanted to… get together, then it would only be for two weeks. Which would mean that we could do the things that couples do, whilst not doing the things that my… defect, precludes me from doing. And that wouldn’t be too much of a burden on you, for only two weeks. Or perhaps it would, I don’t really understand how it feels to…”

“Cas,” said Dean, reaching out and taking hold of Cas’ shoulders in his hands. “Cas. You shut up for a goddamn second and listen to me. You think that if we were together, you being asexual would be a burden on me?”

“It would –” Cas began.

“It wouldn’t!” Dean interrupted angrily. “You’ve got it all upside down, Cas, you hear me? Calling it a defect, well, that’s just _bullshit_ , and you should know that by now. You just don’t like the feeling of something! If someone didn’t like the feeling of changing gears in a car, would they be defective? If someone didn’t like the taste of bread, would you call that defective? Of course you wouldn’t, it’s just a goddamn preference!”

“But sex is –” Cas began.

“Sex is an action. It’s a sensation. It’s something that two people can do together, or they can do something different. And if we were together, you ‘n’ me would just do something different.”

“But how could you be happy like that?” Cas asked, a little desperately.

“How could – Cas, how could I _not_ be happy like that? You really think that over the past couple months, I’ve been taking you places and showing you things and watching your face light up like it’s goddamn Christmas every time you find something new, and thinking, man, I wish we were doing something that makes Cas really uncomfortable instead? I’ve loved getting to know you,” Dean said. “I love doing things with you. I love the way you find something important about everything. I love the way you trust me –”

Dean broke off for a second, tilting his head down so that Cas couldn’t see his face.

“I love you,” said Cas.

Dean’s head snapped back up. He stared at Cas for a second, open-mouthed.

“Is it really such a huge surprise?” Cas said, with a little shrug, an almost-smile. “What else did you expect me to do with you?”

Dean laughed, a small, near-silent chuckle that was more an exhalation of relief. He reached up a hand and adjusted the grey hat on Cas’ head.

“You love me,” he said, watching his own fingers instead of looking at Cas.

“I love you,” Cas confirmed. Dean’s hand moved lower, the backs of his fingers stroking Cas’ cheek.

“I love you, too,” he said. “And I want to be with you, for as long as I can.”

“Dean…”

“I will never have sex with you,” Dean said, his mouth quirking into a smile. “And I’ll never go on a plane with you either, because I hate flying. And I’ll never own a cat with you, because I’m allergic. And I don’t know about you, but I’ll never feel like any of those things are anywhere near important enough to stop us being together.”

“Dean,” said Cas, and then ran out of words to describe the way that he was feeling, so he just looked at Dean, his eyes a little wet and full of all the love and happiness that he felt welling up inside him like a bright, hot spring.

Dean cleared his throat.

“So, uh, tell me. How do you feel about… kissing?” Dean asked. Cas’ gaze dropped to Dean’s lips, and back up to his eyes.

“I feel good about it,” he said.

“Good? Is that good like, I don’t mind when other people do it? Or good like, that could be fun in the future? Or good like, I wouldn’t actually mind if we –”

Cas leaned forward, smooth and relaxed, and pressed his lips to Dean’s.

Of all the new sensations that Cas had experienced over the past few months, this one had to be the best. He felt hyperaware; the scent of Dean’s cologne was sweet and strong, the warmth and softness of his lips completely perfect against Cas’ own, the brush and press of Dean’s hand on the back of his neck sending tingles of happiness up and down his spine…

He wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and deepened the kiss, opening his mouth slightly so that he could taste Dean’s mouth with the tip of his tongue. He heard Dean hum with pleasure, felt the vibration moving from the back of Dean’s throat to his own. Dean’s mouth was warm and delicious, and the flicking caresses of his tongue felt so good, so different to anything that Cas had ever experienced – he never wanted this to end, he wanted to kiss Dean forever –

When at last they broke apart, Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s; Dean pressed soft, slow little kisses against his lips, his chin, his cheeks.

“Did you like that?” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

“I liked that,” Cas confirmed. “I think we should do that a lot.”

Dean laughed and leaned up to kiss Cas’ forehead.

“I guess that’d be OK,” he said. “You know, because I kind of like you, like whatever – mmph.” Dean broke off as Cas leaned in again, stopping Dean’s lips with his own.

Cas didn’t get a lot of studying done that day.

**

The two weeks that Dean and Cas had left passed alarmingly quickly. Cas had exams on some of the days, and spent the others studying hard at Dean’s house. In the evenings, when Dean had finished tending to the school gardens or cleaning, he’d come back to the house and they’d sit in the living room together, Cas perched on the window sill and Dean sprawled on the armchair.

“Wish I had a sofa,” Dean said one night, as they lay together on the floor with Def Leppard playing quietly in the background.

“That would make this much easier,” Cas agreed, pressed up against Dean’s side with their hands entwined. They did this most nights, sometimes for ten minutes and sometimes for hours, eventually falling asleep on the carpet together.

Dean tapped his thumb against the back of Cas’ hand, to the rhythm of the beat in _Hysteria._

“I tried to tell my mother,” said Cas quietly, and Dean paused.

“What?”

“I tried telling my mother about… about being asexual. On the telephone.”

Dean was watching Cas, his eyes wide. Cas continued to stare up at the ceiling, tracing the faint pattern of brushstrokes in the white paint with his eyes.

“And?”

Cas sighed.

“She told me it was impossible for a human being to be asexual,” he said. “She told me she’d find me a nice girl to settle down with, and I’d soon see that I was just being silly. She said it was because I was young and didn’t have any experience.”

Dean frowned.

“You don’t need me to tell you that’s crap, right? I’ve never had any experience with eating liquorice, but I can tell from the smell that it’s gonna taste like ass and I’m probably never gonna want to eat it.”

Cas shrugged his shoulders.

“I know that it’s not true. I wish that she’d listen to me, and take me seriously. I have a long break before I start at Stanford, and now she’s going to spend all of it trying to – I think the phrase is “hook me up”? With all of the girls in my area. I’m sure they’re very nice to spend time with under different circumstances, but I think it will be very awkward.”

“Do you really have to go home?”

Cas screwed up his face in a grimace.

“If I don’t, she’ll sell the house that she’s bought for me in California. I could probably afford to rent my own place, because I get an allowance every month and I’ve only spent a few hundred dollars of it in the last five years, but I don’t know… I have no experience with money or houses, I’d probably end up homeless. It’s for the best that I follow the plan that she’s laid out for me.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his thumb over the back of Cas’ hand. They usually avoided talking about when Cas would have to leave the school; it made both of them too upset.

“Something arrived for you today,” said Cas, to take their minds off the subject. “A package. I left it on the kitchen table.”

“Oh, yes!” Dean said, rolling to his feet and padding through to the kitchen. Cas heard the sounds of cardboard being ripped open, and then Dean reappeared holding a sleek, silver device.

“This is really dumb,” said Dean, holding it out for Cas to see: it was a digital camera. “But I was thinking that we don’t have long, and… and I don’t want to, uh, forget any of this, so.” He cleared his throat loudly and continued in a determinedly strong voice, “I thought we could take some pictures. Maybe go up to the Roadhouse and get some with Jo, and go to the market and take some with Ash and his burgers… mostly of us, though. And then you could take the camera with you when you go away, so that you can look at the pictures, and remember…”

Dean had to break off, and Cas got up quickly to wrap him up in a close hug.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” he murmured. “It’s perfect, Dean.”

They swayed together for a few seconds, fists clenched in the back of each other’s jumpers, Dean’s face buried in Cas’ shoulder.

“My last exam is in two days,” Cas said, “and my mother comes to pick me up three days after that. We’ve got time to take the pictures.”

Dean mumbled something incomprehensible into Cas’ shoulder and pulled him even closer.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Cas whispered, and Dean squeezed him so hard that he thought his ribs might break.


	9. Chapter 9

They took the first photos that night. _Bringin’ On the Heartbreak_ was just starting to play as they sat back down, and Dean turned on the camera, holding it up in front of him and pointing it at Cas’ face.

“Not just me,” Cas protested, reaching out a hand to block the lens. “I know what I look like already.”

“You don’t know what you look like when you’re with me,” Dean said. “C’mon, just one.”

Cas sighed, and lowered his hand.

“One,” he said sternly, as Dean snapped the shutter, taking a picture of his exasperated expression. “Dean! I wasn’t smiling!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said, looking down at the picture he’d taken with a warm smile and bright, crinkled eyes. He raised the camera again. “Okay, smile this time.”

“I can’t…” Cas said, feeling awkward. Dean reached out and ruffled his hair, making it stand on end.

“Sure you can,” he said easily. “Don’t look at the camera, just smile at me.”

Cas relaxed his shoulders and looked at Dean’s face. Dean was looking down at the camera screen, his expression one of concentration and focus as he tried to frame the picture just right. Watching him work made it easy for Cas to smile, so he did, and Dean pressed the shutter.

“OK, my turn,” Cas said, reaching out and taking the camera. He pointed it at Dean, who immediately pulled the most grotesque face that he could think of, and then another, and then another, Cas snapping away and laughing at each one. Finally, with his tongue sticking out, his cheeks puffed and his eyes crossed, Dean made himself crack – Cas took six, seven pictures in a row of Dean as he laughed.

“Alright,” Dean said. “Now both of us. Come here.”

He took back the camera as Cas shuffled around to sit next to him, and put one arm around Cas’ shoulders, pulling him in close and taking the picture. He flipped the camera round to look at the photo he’d just taken, and squeezed Cas’ shoulder.

“We look great,” he said, at the same time as Cas said,

“You’re so beautiful, Dean.”

“It’s the lighting,” Dean said, turning bright red; Cas reached out a hand behind the camera and pressed on Dean’s finger, taking a photo of the moment. Dean chuckled and didn’t bother to look at it, instead taking another one, and another, and another, as he looked into Cas’ eyes. He lifted his free hand and tilted up Cas’ chin, before leaning in to press a light kiss to his lips.

“Dean,” said Cas, when he moved away. Dean lowered the camera, and kissed him again, stronger and slower.

“I love you,” he said, and then brought up the camera to take a picture of them. When he turned the camera around to look at it, Cas saw the sincerity and warmth on Dean’s face; his own expression was one of slightly surprised happiness, the corners of his mouth just starting to lift, his eyes wide and wondering.

“One more,” Dean said. “Let’s look into the camera. Smile!”

He pressed his cheek against Cas’ and lifted up the camera. Cas didn’t struggle to smile, this time: he felt as though it would be impossible to _stop_ smiling, with Dean so close to him, his cheek so close that Cas could feel his smile. Dean hit the shutter, just as _Photograph_ came on over the speakers, making Dean laugh. He turned off the camera, and handed it to Cas.

“Time for bed,” he said sternly. “You’ve got an exam tomorrow.”

They parted slowly, as they always did, Dean insisting that Cas wear his leather jacket and his hat to keep him warm on the way home. Back in his room, Cas couldn’t help sneaking a glance through their photos, with _Arrival of the Birds_ playing on the pink iPod. He spent the longest on the last one, lingering over looking at Dean’s face, open and beaming, and his own, which was wearing the happiest expression that Cas had ever seen on his own face. His eyes were actually _sparkling_.

**

The two days of exams passed in a blur of studying, mild panic and short-lived relief before the next one began. When they were finally all over, Cas returned to the locker room to put away his Math textbook – he’d been studying right up until the last possible moment. When he opened his locker, he found a little paper note tucked at the bottom, and smiled as he picked it up.

_Roadhouse tomorrow? Bring the camera. Love you._

So the next morning, Cas walked to Dean’s house, wrapped in the jacket and wearing the hat that he hadn’t found time to give back. He took pictures on the way, of everything he could see that he thought he would want to remember – each individual flower, Dean’s house from a hundred feet, from fifty feet, from twenty; Dean’s front door; Dean’s face when he answered the door, smiling and wearing the sweater that Cas had left there one evening, and never bothered to reclaim.

They walked up to the Roadhouse, exchanging the camera between them; Dean complained that Cas took too many pictures of everything, and Cas complained that Dean only took pictures of _him._

“You’re the only thing worth taking a picture of,” Dean said, the tips of his ears turning pink, and Cas didn’t complain again.

Jo was tending to several customers, waiting at the tables as they walked into the Roadhouse; even so, she paused to smile cheekily for a picture when Cas pointed it at her face, and then proceeded to make faces at the camera every time she approached their table to take their order, or clean away the plates. She picked up the camera herself when she brought over their dessert – two large helpings of cherry pie – and snapped a picture of Dean and Cas’ faces as they bit into it. When all the other customers had gone, she invited them to the back; they gathered around the table, all kneading at the dough that Ellen had made up earlier. Ellen herself appeared at one point, and picked the camera up from where it lay on the table next to Dean, stepping back to take a picture of the three of them. They smiled nicely for the first two, and then Jo glanced sneakily over at Dean, picking up a fistful of flour, and next thing Ellen knew, she was documenting a full-scale three-way flour fight, Jo giggling and ducking as Cas threw a double-handed retaliation at her, Dean yelping and scrunching up his eyes against the white dust that Jo continued to launch in his direction… Ellen let it go on for a few seconds before clearing her throat loudly, and snapping a picture of the three wide-eyed, mildly-panicked, flour-covered faces that looked up at her.

When they’d finished kneading the dough and washed off their hands and faces, Dean picked up the camera again. He reached over and ruffled up Cas’ hair to get the flour out, before patting it a little flatter again and raising the camera. He pulled Cas in close and Jo came in to hug Cas from the other side; he was squeezed between them as Dean took some pictures – the first couple just smiling, and the next few pulling silly faces and laughing at themselves.

When Dean and Cas pulled their coats back on, Jo came up to them with a bright smile on her face. She put her arms around Cas, hugging him tightly.

“You have a great time at Stanford, OK?” she said. “Stay in touch. And you better get your ass back here to see us.”

Cas promised that he would, and meant it.

**

The next day found Cas and Dean in the Impala, Dean driving and Cas taking pictures of him, and of the interior of the car, and of the fields slipping past the windows.

“What’s that rattling noise?” he asked, as he took another photo of Dean and looked down at the camera to admire it. “It’s always there when you turn on the heating.”

Dean smiled, so Cas took a picture.

“It’s toy soldiers,” he said. “In the vents. Sam put them there, when we were kids. When I was working on the car, after – after my dad died, I put them back in there. Just doesn’t feel like Baby without them.”

Cas nodded, understanding completely.

When they arrived at the market, they paused to take pictures of each stall they passed – Pamela baring her teeth in a mock-growl and making ‘rock on’ hand signs for her picture. When they arrived at Ash’s tent, he grinned for the camera whilst looking mildly confused and holding a bottle of beer.

Dean and Cas spent the rest of the day leaning back on their hay bale, watching the crowds milling past them and occasionally taking surreptitious pictures of the more wackily-dressed shoppers. They made up extravagant life-stories for them, often involving monsters, tragedy and unbelievable plot twists.

“And then she set fire to the whole building, and walked away into the night, never to be bothered by the Russian mafia again,” Dean finished with relish, watching the red-haired woman in question inspecting a large watermelon. Cas laughed, and Dean took a picture; then, he lowered the camera, and just looked at Cas. Cas, who didn’t need to ask why, simply looked back. After a few moments, they kissed, slow and sweet, Cas’ hand coming up to cup Dean’s cheek.

“Hey! Stop being cute on the hay bale!” Ash called to them, waving a pair of tongs threateningly.

When they drove home, Dean let Cas do all of the gear changes. Cas took pictures of the gear stick, of Dean, of himself as he moved from third to fourth gear.

“You’re quite the co-pilot,” Dean said.

**

Cas and Dean spent their last day together just sitting outside Dean’s house, with Cas reading his book, and Dean working on the Impala.

“Are you sure you don’t need to be working?” Cas asked, as he settled into his chair; Dean threw him a look, and Cas didn’t mention it again. Of course Dean needed to be working, and of course he wasn’t going to. Not today.

Cas kept the camera next to him all day, but didn’t take as many pictures. He thought that when he looked back at them, he’d be able to see his own sadness, and Dean’s, too clearly in their expressions.

He tried very hard not to think about tomorrow at all, when his mother would be coming to pick him up. She’d arrive in her chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce, all silver-grey glamour and coldness, and spirit him away back to the life he’d always known. He wasn’t sure how he was possibly going to manage it; living the kind of life that his mother wanted him to live had barely seemed bearable before he met Dean, and now that he’d truly experienced what it was like to be happy, he found the thought of anything else utterly terrible. He could feel himself starting to crumble, so he turned his thoughts back to his book, and to Dean, and to the smell of petrol and metal coming from the Impala’s engine.

They lost the light all too soon; migrating inside, they put on Dean’s favourite Led Zeppelin mixtape and ate dinner together. Cas took pictures of everything inside Dean’s house, trying hard not to think about the next time he’d be looking at these pictures – miles and miles away, in the coldness of his own bedroom? Or would he find it too hard to look at them for months, and only bring out the camera when he reached Stanford? He took a picture of the purple toothbrush that Dean kept in a cup at the side of the sink in the little bathroom.

“Cas?” Dean said, coming in. “Are you crying over my toothbrush?”

“No,” said Cas. “Of course not.”

Dean came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist, resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder.

“Come and have some hot chocolate,” he said, and they moved away together, Cas holding onto the back of Dean’s jumper lightly with the tips of his fingers.

They drew out the evening for as long as they could, but when it was hours past their midnight and the sky was starting to get light, Dean finally stood up and took Cas’ hand, leading him to the door.

“You gotta be up early for your Mom,” he said. “You said she was arriving at seven, right? I bet you haven’t even packed yet.”

Cas confirmed that he hadn’t, feeling both utterly numb and hypersensitive as he stood in the hallway for the last time. They stood looking at each other for a long moment, before Dean put his hands on his hips and exhaled sharply.

“OK, well, I guess this is it,” he said. “Oh, actually, I still have…” He reached behind the door and picked Cas’ sweater off one of the hooks, holding it out to him. “This is yours.”

Cas shook his head.

“Keep it,” he said. “I don’t need it.” Dean nodded, seemingly unable to speak for a moment, and then replaced the sweater on the hook. His hand hovered for a second, and then picked up the leather jacket.

“No, Dean,” said Cas, knowing what Dean was about to do.

“Yes,” said Dean firmly, reaching around behind Cas and pulling the coat over his shoulders; Cas protested half-heartedly, but allowed Dean to put his arms through the sleeves.

“This is yours,” Cas said, his voice a little choked, and Dean nodded.

“That’s why I want you to have it,” he said. “I’m not giving it to you. This is a loan, you hear? This is just until we see each other again.”

He reached behind him and lifted the grey hat off the hook, tugging it lopsidedly over Cas’ hair and neatening it fussily with fingers that were shaking slightly. Cas reached up and grasped them in his own, and then leaned forwards to kiss Dean. Dean kissed him back, a little desperately, his arms wrapping around Cas and holding him tightly.

“Until we see each other again,” he murmured hoarsely, when they broke apart. Cas nodded, not trusting his own voice. He kissed Dean again, once, twice, reached out blindly for the door handle behind him, knowing that if he didn’t leave now, then he’d never be able to do it. He took a step backwards, keeping his eyes on Dean’s face, even though looking at his expression made his heart twist and ache more painfully than anything he’d ever felt before.

“I love you,” he managed to say, and Dean’s lips trembled a little before he replied,

“I love you, too.”

Cas turned and walked away, feeling his heart splinter a little further with every step. He didn’t hear the creak of Dean’s door closing, and when he turned to look back a hundred feet down the road, he saw Dean silhouetted against the dim light of his hallway, leaning against the doorframe, his head in his hands.

Cas didn’t sleep that night.


	10. Chapter 10

At six fifty-five, Cas walked out towards the front of the school. He reached the parking lot, his suitcase sitting beside him. Dean’s jacket was a warm hug around his shoulders, and he could feel the weight of the camera in his pocket. He was wearing the grey hat on his head, and attempting once more to channel Ellen’s stoniest expression. He wished that he were made of marble, or granite, or diamond – something hard, unfeeling, emotionless. He wished he couldn’t feel anything. In the corner of his eye, he could see Dean’s little white house, and from this angle, he could see the Impala, too. He caught himself staring at it longingly, and looked away.

In the distance, he could hear a car approaching, and swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He dug his hands into his pockets – and pulled one of them back out, holding a wire. When he tugged on it, he found that he was holding Dean’s iPod.

The silver Mercedes rounded the corner and pulled into the parking lot. Cas watched numbly as his mother got out of the back seat and walked towards him, her arms held out.

“Castiel,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking down at him. Naomi was wearing her usual power-suit and stern expression. “It’s good to see you. Get in the car.”

Cas opened his mouth to speak, not sure what he was going to say – and then he glanced over towards Dean’s house, and felt his breath taken away in one swift moment. Leaning against the Impala, wearing Cas’ sweatshirt, was Dean. He’d come out to see Cas leave.

Of course he had, Cas thought. Of course.

“Mother,” Cas said. “I just…”

Naomi was looking down at him, waiting for him to pick up his suitcase and follow him to the car.

“I just remembered that I still have my friend’s iPod,” Cas said. “I have to go and return it.”

He held up the pink iPod as proof. Naomi’s lips thinned, but she nodded.

“You’ve got five minutes,” she said. “We need to get on the road. We’re having lunch with the Miltons, I’m sure you remember Anna? She’s a lovely girl…”

Cas nodded and backed away hastily.

“Hurry!” Naomi called, and he started to run; he didn’t stop until he reached Dean’s house and skidded around the corner, out of breath.

“Cas?” Dean said, coming over and standing in front of him, his eyes wide and confused. “What’s going on? Did you…?”

“I still have your iPod,” Cas said, handing it back to him.

“Oh,” said Dean, and Cas watched his face collapse. “Oh, right. Cool. Make sure you get one of your own, yeah? I don’t wanna think of you without any good music to listen to. Actually, just take this one. You can’t go a whole car journey without some decent tunes…”

“No, no, I can’t,” said Cas, feeling semi-delirious as he pushed the iPod back at Dean. “I can’t take that, it’s too expensive and I’m very rich. I’ll get my own, when I’m back at my mother’s house, I’ll order one and get all the same music to put on it –”

“Cas,” said Dean. “Don’t go.”

The whole crazy, tilting world seemed to go suddenly still. Cas stared into Dean’s eyes, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

“Don’t –”

“Don’t go,” Dean repeated. “Don’t go with your mother.”

“Dean, we’ve been through this,” Cas said, fighting a furious battle against the tears welling in his eyes. “I have nowhere else to go.”

“Come with me,” Dean said. “Come to Bobby’s and meet him ‘n’ Sam. And when it’s time for you to go to Stanford, I’ll help you buy a house with the money you have saved.” He reached out and held Cas’ hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. “Cas, we can drive out of here right now,” he said. “We can get in the Impala and go. You just say the word, and we’ll leave.”

“Dean, what about your job? What about saving for Sam?”

“Yeah, about that,” Dean said. “You remember when Ellen mentioned a job for me in Cali? It’s still open, so… I’d just have to call her, and it’s mine. I can move to Stanford and work there. And if you wanted… because I’d be earning more, I could put some money towards the rent, so we could even get a place, uh, together?”

“Dean,” said Cas, feeling the tiny spark of hope in his chest being fanned, growing stronger. “Are you sure that you’re prepared to –”

“If you want to stay with your mother, if you think that’s the better option, then that’s OK. We’ll see each other again,” Dean said, speaking over him, crushing his fingers slightly. “But if you want to come with me… only if you want to… then we can go. Right now, just you and me. I mean it.”

Cas felt as though he were standing in the eye of the storm, gripping Dean’s hand just as tightly as it was being gripped, feeling the whirling of the world – his mother, his home, his future – like a faint howl, ever-present but unimportant. All that was important to Cas, in that moment, was the points of pressure between their hands, and the stare that they both held, and the single, silent tear that was falling down Dean’s cheek, matching his own.

Cas looked down at where his mother’s car was parked, looked at his mother, who was watching him with her hands on her hips.

He made up his mind.

He leaned forwards, put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and kissed him, a little hard and desperate, softening into sweetness after a few seconds. Dean pulled back, stroking his thumb over Cas’ cheek.

“Is that – is that a yes, or –”

“It’s a yes,” Cas confirmed, feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, Dean, a thousand times yes.”

Dean stared into his eyes, his expression one of utter disbelief.

“You really want…?”

“More than anything else in the world,” Cas said, pulling the grey hat off his head and putting it on Dean instead. “Can we go now?”

Dean seemed to jump into action. He gave Cas’ shoulder a little push, guiding him towards the Impala’s passenger door, heading himself for the driver’s side.

“Don’t you need your things?” Dean said, as Cas swung himself into the car. “Your suitcase?”

Cas shook his head, thinking of his scratchy school clothes, his beaten-up textbooks.

“I have everything I need,” he said, watching Dean as he turned on the ignition, put the car into gear.

“Ready?” Dean asked.

“Ready,” said Cas, turning on the stereo. As the Impala reversed out of the driveway, the first lines of _Hooked On a Feeling_ began to play.

“What the hell is this?” Dean demanded over the sound of chanting, looking over at Cas, who smiled and raised his eyebrows innocently.

“I like the song and I found it on a mixtape in your bookshelf, so I put it in here for you to listen to,” he said. Dean’s expression softened, and he punched Cas lightly on the arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, and Cas smiled down at his hands, feeling his heart squeeze with happiness.

“Wave goodbye to your mother,” said Dean, as the car began to roll down the hill. As Dean shifted into second gear and the chorus of the song kicked in, Cas rolled down his window and made the ‘rock out’ hand signs that Pamela had taught him out the window towards his mother.

“Bye, Mom!” he called, and Dean laughed as Naomi actually stamped her foot in rage, standing impotently next to Cas’ suitcase.

They cruised on down the road, Dean moving up from second gear into third. Cas wrapped his hand over Dean’s on the gear stick, and smiled at him.

“I love you,” he said, and Dean beamed at him.

“I love you, too,” he replied, and together they shifted from third gear into fourth.

**

Of course, they didn’t drive to Bobby’s straight away. They got as far as the market, ate a burger, and then went back to the school to pack up Dean’s things in boxes, which they packed neatly into the trunk and the back seat. Cas felt strangely light, as though getting rid of his suitcase had somehow removed a huge burden from his shoulders.

When they did finally drive away from the school for the last time, with Led Zeppelin back on the stereo and the sun setting in the sky, Cas sighed. Dean looked over at him.

“You OK?” he asked. “Big day.”

“It has been,” Cas agreed. “I have this feeling… of being very rebellious.”

“Do you like it?” Dean asked.

“I do,” Cas answered. “I also have this feeling of being very in love with you.”

Dean cast him a glowing glance, his cheeks turning pink.

“Do you, uh – do you like it?” he asked.

Cas smiled, looking out at the red horizon.

“I do,” he said. “I do.”


End file.
